The Fifth Column
by chromeknickers
Summary: Katara watched the masked figure silently twirl the blade in his hand. The Fifth Column's greatest assassin had been sent there to kill her or break her, or maybe it was both. Either way, they wanted their answers; it was the reason she had been kidnapped in the first place ... or so she thought.
1. Prologue

**Warning: **This story is rated mature for its dark themes, graphic violence, and sexual content, including smut and elements of dub-con and one questionable scene of non-con. Read at your own discretion.

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BOOK 1

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_The 'fifth column' is a group of people who clandestinely undermine a larger group, such as a nation, from within._

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KATARA WATCHED THE masked figure silently twirl the bo-shuriken in his hand, nimbly rolling the blade along his fingers. They were such long fingers, sturdy and broad-knuckled, and she couldn't bring herself to turn her eyes away from them, hypnotised by the blur of movement.

Her wrists ached in their bonds, and when she pulled on them the rope cut ever so slightly into her flesh, just enough to burst the capillaries beneath the surface of the skin. There would be marks left behind—marks that would last long after they untied her and threw her back in her cell. But the bruises would have to be tended to later, or not at all. It all depended on what this new torturer had in store for her.

"You and me," she growled, "we'll settle up after this." It was times like these she wished she were in her cage straining against the iron shackles; at least she'd look as intimidating as she was trying to sound.

The masked man laughed silently at her threat, studying her with shrouded eyes before pushing himself off the wall. In one swift motion he deftly slipped the shuriken back up his sleeve, the silver blade disappearing into the thin fold of fabric.

Katara flinched at his movements. She had never seen this stranger before now but she instinctively knew by his dress and demeanour that he was not some common guard. He had arrived at the prison earlier that morning, dressed in black from head to toe, save a grotesque silver skull mask that covered half his face.

To say that he was different from the others who had been sent to interrogate her was an understatement. While her tormentors had been brash and cruel, this man was quiet and observing and frightfully intimidating in his own way. In the few short minutes she had spent with him in the interrogation cell—with him staring at her and fingering the blades of his weapons—his silence and posture had spoken volumes more than any beating had.

This masked stranger was vastly more terrifying than any other man Katara had encountered in this hell-hole of a prison. And although he seemed mute, Katara had no delusions about who he was and why he was there. She had heard the guards whispering his name: Kage, the Fifth Column's greatest assassin. He had been sent there to break her or kill her, or maybe it was both.

The only real information not left open for interpretation was that the Fifth Column wanted their answers—answers that they had been trying to torture out of Katara for the past three weeks: the whereabouts of Ozai's prison, Fire Lord Zuko's hidden bunker, the identity of the metalbending master who had designed the former infrastructures, and the location of Avatar Aang.

Katara knew these answers, but no matter how hard they beat her, no matter how much they starved her or threatened her, she would not break. Her friends would come for her, and if they couldn't find her in time, then she would die protecting their secrets.

It was her way.

The assassin took a silent step forward and Katara instantly recoiled, expecting the worst. Instead, he turned and strolled over to the door, knocking on it twice to signal to the guard that he was finished.

It was their first meeting and he hadn't even lifted a finger against her. She was sure that it was a scare tactic or a way of lulling her into a false sense of security. Perhaps it was both. Regardless, Katara was far too tired to worry about the what-ifs or the tomorrows or the day-afters. Tonight she would be put in the cage and given water and maybe—just maybe—some food. There she could practise bloodbending on the rats again, and that horrendous act alone would bring her more peace and pleasure than she would ever like to admit.

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**Author's notes: **This story was written for Kitty, who wanted a dark post-war smut fic. I hope this isn't _too_ dark for you. ;)

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**Translations:**

*Kage (kah-gay) is Japanese for _shadow_.


	2. The Mask of Kage

STREAMS OF DUST and sand hissed over the aged stone, blood-red like the sunset. The evening was cold and the wind crouched silent in the arid hills before moaning mournfully through the weathered ruins.

This barren wasteland once held the great and ancient city of Ka'shi. But now all that was left of it and its proud, skilful race of Eastern Sun Warriors were shattered domes and tottering colonnades half-hidden beneath the sands. Everything else had turned to dust and sand.

Under different circumstances the assassin might have spent a few days wandering the surfaced remains of the ruins, pondering their long-lost tales. But he had spent the past three weeks searching for the waterbender in the many seedy taverns and clandestine prisons that the Fifth Column had at its disposal across the world, and now that he had finally found her he had little time to waste on sight-seeing.

Above the black silhouettes of crumbling towers and crooked walls, a sea of stars glittered like shards of ice in a dark and limitless sky. It was these pinpricks of diamonds floating above him that moved him to seek company with the cool, compassionless night. These stars had existed long before he had looked upon this forlorn desert and they would doubtlessly continue to burn brightly long after he was gone.

"Kage-sama," a guard called from behind, before bowing lowly. "Nobleman Kenzo will speak with you now."

The assassin tore his gaze away from the sky and grimaced. Squaring his shoulders, he walked past the guard and moved with a cold, calculated grace. Kage had the calm self-possession of a man who had absolutely no worry for his own safety. And he never needed to—not until now.

Sand pelted at the black leather guards that protected his calves while the wind caught at his cloak and tried to tug it away. The desert city was scoured by a relentless, stinging blast of wind and sand that buffeted him from a different direction with every step he took. The guard behind him tripped, cursing colourfully into the night wind. The assassin, however, silently drifted back into the prison without pause, pulling back the hood of his cloak.

As he walked the narrow corridors towards the gallery, he was struck by how few prisoners there were and how widely they were spaced out. They were political prisoners, of course—men and women who had opposed Fire Lord Azulon's regime. Most looked to be Fire Nation, but here and there were Earth Kingdom and even Water Tribe. Many looked to be dreadfully old, as if they had been imprisoned since birth. Excluding Master Katara, by rough count there were at least thirteen prisoners in total and twenty-three guards—twenty-three firebending guards of the Fifth Column, the most powerful benders in the world.

He reached the end of the gallery and turned inwards, climbing the narrow stairway that cut through the heart of the monolithic spur. As he ascended, the cacophony of the wind outside faded quickly to a distant but deep whisper, sibilant and penetrating. He followed the spiralling black steps up into a great chamber, a vaulted cathedral of shadows at the highest peak of the prison. Flickering torches of ever-burning fire set in bronze sconces cast faint, ruddy pools of light along the ribbed walls, streaks of red that faded into the blackness of the impossibly high vault overhead.

The warden's office was straight ahead, guarded by two Fifth Columnists. They stood at full attention when he approached, eyeing him warily as he advanced, while a third guard entered the room to announce the assassin's arrival. When the door reopened, the guards quickly stepped aside to permit Kage entrance.

There behind the desk sat Nobleman Kenzo, a burly man in his fifties with salt and pepper hair and dark grey eyes. In his youth he must have been handsome; for even in his advancing age he appeared young and vital, despite the ugly scar beneath his left eye.

Two imposing guards dressed in Fifth Column colours of white and gold stood on either side of the warden, but Kage suspected that Kenzo was far more skilled than the younger men who surrounded him. A third guard stepped inside and closed the door behind him, and Kage's attention was redirected back to the warden, who stood up from his desk in greetings.

"Kage-san, I must admit that I was rather surprised this morning to hear that a man of you stature had arrived here at our little garrison." Kenzo motioned to the empty seat across from him, and when the assassin declined his offer to sit, the warden sat back down. "I'm sorry I couldn't speak with you until now. I had meetings all day."

Kage merely stood stoically near the door, only a few feet in front of one of the guards. The assassin was the type of man who said little and observed much. He knew Kenzo was not the busy man he'd like him to believe, certainly not with only fourteen rather infirm prisoners under his watch. It was obvious the warden was displeased with Kage's arrival. An assassin sent to a political prison screamed of high-level officials thinning the inner ranks. It was one of the reasons why Kenzo had guards posted both outside and inside his office.

"Again, I'm surprised you're here," the warden repeated, slightly perturbed by Kage's silence and gleaming silver mask. "You're not an interrogator, so I don't see what business you have here."

The assassin went for his belt and each guard quickly shifted into an offensive position. Kage smiled grimly behind his mask and slowly pulled out a scroll. The men relaxed, including Kenzo, and Kage stepped forward to hand the document to the warden before stepping back in place with his hands resting behind his back.

Unfurling the scroll, Kenzo began to read. His lips twisted until they were only visible as a thin, pale line. The colour seemed to drain from his face and he glanced up, eyeing the hilts of the dual dao swords resting on the assassin's back. His cheeks then flushed an angry red and a grimace settled on his mouth.

"General Yao has personally ordered you to oversee my treatment of Master Katara," he read slowly, and his bushy brows knitted into a deep V as he glanced up. "And he has designated _you_ as her sole interrogator."

He leaned back in his chair and exhaled noisily through his nose, trying to glean some insight behind the devilish grin of the mask. But the assassin only met Kenzo's stare with stony silence, waiting for his next command. Sighing, the warden threw down the scroll in annoyance.

"Fine. A guard will show you to your room and you'll begin interrogating the waterbender tomorrow." He raised a dark eyebrow in incredulity. "Although I'm not sure _how_ you'll interrogate her with silence."

With mind-numbing speed, Kage withdrew four shurikens from each sleeve and pinned the guards to the wall before they could even react. He swivelled around and locked the third guard in a steely grip, putting a short blade to his throat before cutting a thin, bloody line. Looking Kenzo in the eye, Kage dug the blade in deep until the guard cried out, impotent in the assassin's grasp.

The warden merely smirked.

"Yes, fear and pain are great tools of intimidation." He pushed back on his chair to stand as Kage released the guard. "But if you don't get any information out of the waterbender soon, we'll be forced to resort to something far more sinister and devastating, for her."

He walked over to his guards and freed them from Kage's shurikens, throwing the blades at the assassin with surprising accuracy. Kage caught the shurikens with ease and slipped the blades back up his sleeves as though they had never been in his hands to begin with. The injured guard took a step back and rubbed at his bleeding neck, eyeing Kage with a mixture of anger, terror and amazement.

"As for your meetings with the prisoner, the same rules apply as they did this morning when you entered the interrogation cell: no water or liquids on your person and no untying of her bonds." Kenzo looked past the assassin and an unsavoury expression flitted across his hardened features before he took his seat. "She's an extremely skilful waterbender, which is why we have to keep her caged in such arid conditions.

"Furthermore, when you interrogate her, you'll only question her about the following: the location of Fire Lord Ozai's prison, his bastard son Zuko's underground bunker, the identity of the metalbender who designed and built said structures, and the location of Avatar Aang."

The assassin's eyes widened slightly at the last bit of news. He was unable to mask his surprise before Kenzo caught it and granted himself a smug grin of satisfaction.

"General Yao didn't reveal this last titbit of information to you, did he?" It was more of a statement than a question. "Yes, the Avatar's been missing for almost a month now, which is why we were able to so easily abduct his fiancée. The ransom demands were sent to Ozai's traitorous son, but neither the boy nor his friend has responded.

"Meanwhile, the waterbender has been silent despite the daily beatings and withholding of meals. Not as silent as you, obviously." Kenzo grinned unnaturally before continuing, "In fact, she has a rather colourful vocabulary. She's a very . . . _fiery_ woman." He sighed, as though disappointed. "I would have liked to have been the one to break her, but I suppose that task is left up to you now. I can't say that I'm not envious."

Kage hadn't even noticed that he had balled his hands into tight fists. Luckily Kenzo and the guards hadn't observed his change in posture, so Kage chose to practise his breathing instead, slowing down his heart-rate and clearing his mind of all thoughts until he was able to relax his hands.

"I think you know I don't quite trust your reasons for being here," Kenzo added darkly, pointing at the scroll on his desk. "You have risen quickly through the ranks of the Fifth Column, Kage-san, and I don't believe this was a result of your _people skills_."

He offered the assassin a wry grin, which he could not see being returned by the assassin underneath his macabre mask. Kage wouldn't rise to the warden's bait. Instead, he focussed his attention on the two guards flanking Kenzo, studying them briefly before his eyes darted to the wall behind them, searching for clues or information of any kind.

The walls themselves were weathered but strong. This prison was one of the few buildings of Ka'shi that survived the onslaught of time. Obviously the structure had been rebuilt and reinforced from the foundations up, but the assassin could still see the original lime embedded in the sediment and wondered how strong the building truly was.

The uncomfortable silence stretched out for a minute until Kenzo shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. When he opened his mouth to speak, his voice was as cold and scornful as his eyes.

"I have in my employ two Truth-Seers who arrived here just shortly before you did, and I'll be utilising them not just with the waterbender but with _you_." Kenzo's eyes narrowed dangerously. "So if you're questioning the girl for other purposes—" he pointed at the scroll "—_Yao's purposes_, I will know."

Kage simply stood still, staring unblinkingly at the warden while awaiting his dismissal. The shadows from the torchlight licked at his gleaming silver mask, revealing a grotesque white grin underneath. The mask in itself was intimidating, but the fact that the assassin never spoke was what truly unnerved the most hardened of men. However, Kenzo's paranoia and suspicions far outweighed his fear of the assassin standing in front of him. He was just one man against twenty-three. No matter how good he was, he could never defeat so many talented firebenders at once and live.

Could he?

Kenzo growled lowly in his throat before offering a curt wave. "You are dismissed, Assassin."

Kage gave an informal bow before the same guard he had cut led him outside and escorted him to his quarters. His room was in a separate wing on ground level, which wasn't far from the guards' quarters. The room itself was not much bigger than one of the prisoner's cells, with the exception being that his room held a futon, a small desk and bedside cabinet, an open window overseeing the desert outside, and a door that locked from the inside rather than the outside.

The guard, who was obviously still upset over the earlier incident, begrudgingly handed Kage a torch, which the assassin took without thanks. The guard then opened his mouth to frame what most likely would have been an inflammatory comment, but Kage simply stepped inside and closed the door behind him, effectively silencing whatever the guard had to say.

A gentle squawk sounded in the room and Kage turned, knives ready. Adjusting his eyes to the darkness, the assassin could see the dim outline of his dragon hawk, Ryu, roosting on a perch. Once he realised that one of the guards must have brought the bird in into the room for him, Kage relaxed and slipped the shurikens back up his sleeve.

Placing the torch in a bronze sconce, Kage took off his satchel and set it on the desk. He rummaged around until he found a packet of crackers, and at the sound the hawk began to coo excitedly. Taking out a cracker, Kage extended his fingers to Ryu and the bird took the treat in its greedy beak.

Kage gently patted Ryu's head before attending to his attire—removing his cloak and throwing it down on the bed to be used as a blanket. Next he removed his swords from his back and set them down beside the futon. After that came his belt, which held most of his short blades, and the shurikens hidden up his sleeves; then off came his leather shin-guards and slippers, and the thin black gloves that covered his hands. The mask and hood were the last items to come off.

Slipping his thumb and forefinger into the eye sockets of the mask, he pulled off the silver skull and set it down on the table next to the bed. When he dug his fingers into the neck of his hood and lifted it off, he let out an involuntary sigh of relief as the semi-cool air hit his face. The mask and hood were suffocating but necessary, as was keeping his identity safe paramount to all other secrets he held. Discomfort was a small price to pay for anonymity.

He brought his hands to his face and ran his fingers through his shaggy black hair, scratching at his dry scalp. He would have to cut his hair soon. Satisfied, he retrieved another mask from a hidden pocket inside his tunic; this one was thin and black and made of the softest silk. Bringing a finger to his left eye, he traced the black paint that covered the flesh, rubbing it between forefinger and thumb. He should have washed the paint off but he was tired and would have to be up early tomorrow. Sighing, he carefully tied the silk mask around his face; just in case he was compromised in his sleep.

It was obvious that Kenzo didn't trust him there, which was what he had expected. No man of reason and power could trust an assassin in his ranks, especially one sent as an interrogator. But Kage had worked hard to get this assignment, bribing the right men and threatening others, until he found his way to General Yao—a man of great authority who, for some reason, resented Kenzo's position as a lowly prison warden at the ass-end of Fire Nation territory.

Yao had agreed to send Kage to get all the information out of the waterbender that he could, but he also ordered the assassin to kill Nobleman Kenzo after the fact. It was a two-birds-with-one-stone scenario.

The assassin had no qualms about killing Fifth Columnists. He was only an affiliate of the group, a hired assassin, not a full-fledged member. This left him in the dark as to who the real leader of the society was, and Kage wanted to know what Kenzo's importance was before he slit the man's throat. He also wanted to know the significance of this prison outside of it housing Master Katara, and why no one had come to rescue her yet. If the Fifth Column had sent a ransom to the Fire Lord, then why was the information being kept secret? And where was the Avatar?

Kage sat down on the bed and picked up his silver mask, holding it tightly between his fingers. He stared at it solemnly, remembering the conversation he'd had with his uncle when he had first put the damned thing on.

_"Nephew, you have been down this path before. I beg you to reconsider, for the sake of our nation."_

_"It's for the sake of our nation that I do this, Uncle. My father's society is tearing us apart from the inside out. When will this civil war end unless I bring it to an end? Only when the Fifth Column are exposed as the murderous traitors that they are and are finally brought to justice can our people find some kind of peace."_

_"Please, Nephew . . . send someone else—someone you trust."_

_"There is no other I trust but you and my friends, and I will not put any of you at risk."_

_"Zuko—"_

_"I'm sorry, Uncle. I must do this for all of us."_

The silver mask glinted in the firelight; the corners of its mouth were lifted upwards in a mocking grin. It had been a hard decision for him to leave his family and his nation behind, but even in prison his father had the power to undermine him.

Civil war had been ravaging their country for over a decade. It was not yet a full-blown war, but small skirmishes had broken out across several territories and Zuko had to do something about it lest his people starve and fall into ruin. So he had begun his new life as Kage, a shadow assassin for the Fifth Column.

It had taken him almost a year to locate and infiltrate the group, posing as a potential kill-for-hire. He had risen quickly through the ranks, in manner of speaking, known as a man who kept secrets and did his job cleanly and quickly. What the Fifth Column didn't know was that Kage's assignments, the men and women he had been ordered to kill, were hurried out of the country at his own expense—given new identities and homes.

The most well-known were eventually sent to the South Pole while the least recognisable were sent to the colonies and the most remote regions of the Earth Kingdom, such as Kyoshi Island. There, Sokka and the Kyoshi Warriors would arrange for their new identities, helping them start new lives free from the Fifth Column. It was known as the relocation programme, which Sokka had helped design with Zuko.

Outside of Iroh and Mai, only Sokka and, to a lesser degree, Suki were made aware of Zuko's disappearance and underground involvement with the Fifth Column. Neither Aang nor Katara nor Toph were let in on the secret. Zuko couldn't risk the others knowing in case of capture and torture.

In his royal stead was placed a double, a man who looked like Zuko and acted the role in public. Secretly, though, General Iroh led the nation with the double acting as his puppet lord. And even though Mai was in on the scheme, Zuko wasn't certain if his wife would be waiting for him when he returned home. Two years was a long time, and Mai wasn't exactly the patient or forgiving type.

But no matter how much Zuko missed his home and his wife, bringing down the Fifth Column, and thereby ending the civil war, was his greatest priority. In order to achieve this, he had to play the part of Kage, which included killing and even torturing members of the Fifth Column when ordered. The latter, in particular, he especially excelled at by becoming known as the society's 'cleaner'—someone who took care of the group's problems from within.

When Zuko had heard that Katara had been captured by the Fifth Column, he had used every resource available to find out where she was being kept. But releasing her from prison was another matter altogether. The majority of Kenzo's guards were not just Fifth Columnists but incredibly skilled firebenders, and the desert surrounding the ruined city of Ka'shi was too open and too inhospitable for him and Katara to take refuge in. They wouldn't make it far before they were either captured or killed or died of dehydration in the desert. He would have to figure out a plan and that meant he would have to reveal himself to Katara. But how could he do that without rousing suspicion amongst Kenzo and the guards?

He held the mask up to his face. It allowed little facial movement outside of breathing so that when he spoke, which was rare, his voice was deep and muffled. In other words it was unrecognisable. It would be useful with the guards if he had to speak, but it wouldn't be with Katara. He would have to reveal himself to her in order to convince her of who he was. But with the guards eavesdropping from outside the interrogation cell, he would have to think of a different way for them to communicate and a way to supply her with liquid for bending.

Sighing, Zuko lowered the mask and set it on the table. He reached down and took a short blade from his belt, tucking it under his pillow before lying down. Pulling up his cloak as a blanket, he tried to relax his body into sleep, but the countless questions that swam through his mind wouldn't allow this. Where was Aang? How did Katara get captured? How was he going to free her from this prison without blowing his cover?

This wasn't an instance where he could feign his duty and get rid of the incriminating evidence. Katara wasn't a hit that he could pretend to kill and help rush off to safety. There was nowhere for him to hide her, not without someone knowing that Kage was a traitor—that Kage was, in fact, Fire Lord Zuko himself.

He simply didn't have the luxury of time to devise a plan that would save Katara and keep his secret hidden. The fact remained that he would have to jeopardise his entire operation to pull this off, but this didn't guarantee his or her survival. He would have to think and act fast and hope for the best.

The pressing issue as of now was that Katara hadn't given the Fifth Column the answers they sought. Zuko knew it was only a matter of time before they would resort to even more brutal methods of torture—inflicting wounds on Katara that could not be so easily healed. And even if he could break her out of prison, blowing his cover with the society, there were far too many of them for him to fight off alone, especially with her being so weak and malnourished from Kenzo's 'interrogations'. What Zuko had to do was help Katara get her strength back and then come up with a plan to free her while making sure that no one followed or hurt her _ever again_. But how?

Groaning, he sat up and glanced out the window up at the night sky. The moon was near its full—maybe a week left, maybe less. The night's shadows were faint as ghosts, growing from weathered walls and crumbling columns, so dim that only eyes accustomed to the gloom of night could perceive them. He reached outside the bars and scooped up a handful of sand from the ledge, letting it fall between his fingers. As he watched the way the wind swept away the golden stream in the light of the faint silver moon, he felt his own powers waning under its glow.

"I rise with the sun," he said slowly, "but _you_ rise with the moon." He nodded, satisfied, and then lay back down. "Yes, you will rise with the moon again, dear friend . . . soon."

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**Author's notes: **Each chapter shifts in point of view. Keep that in mind when the Zutara interactions happen. If you're left wondering what Katara was thinking in a Zuko PoV chapter, just wait until the next chapter. ;)

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**Translations:**

*The suffixes -_sama_ and -_san_ are titles of respect (in Japan); -_sama_ being more humbly so than -_san_.  
*Ka'shi loosely translates to City of Fire or Fire City (in Japanese).  
*Ryu (lyou or lyuu) is Japanese for _dragon_.


	3. Legacy of Hama

THE LONG SHADOWS of sunrise crept into Katara's cell, lighting the floor a rusty orange. The wind had died outside and she could feel the heat from the sun filter through the tiny window, soaking her skin all the way to the bone.

Shading her eyes, she coughed dryly. Her throat was burning from the lack of moisture. In the shadow of the sun she could tolerate its brilliance, but by midday she would be rendered completely useless. It was then that the guards would cuff her inside a suspended cage and give her water, believing her to be safe from bending—bending the water, that is. They had no idea about the blood . . . and the rats.

In her small cell she had three rats lined up in a row. She pointed two fingers forward and carefully bent the blood inside their tiny bodies, commanding them to walk in unison. With a fluid swish and arc of her right wrist, she gracefully lifted them up onto their hindquarters and conducted the rodents to march in a uniform line. She feel the blood pumping in their veins and, with a precise thrust, she sent them flying into the wall. They landed with a dull thud, their feet and ears twitching with fear.

Letting two of the rats go, Katara commanded the third to stand and walk over to where she sat. She danced it along the floor like a puppet on strings before feeling a sick pull at her stomach from the macabre sight of it. The rat was her marionette and she was its master. In that moment she was reminded of Hama and dropped the rodent from its pose, but did not let it go. Instead, she became transfixed by its plump body and stared fixedly into its beady, blank eyes.

Hunger rumbled in her belly and she was conscious of the weightlessness that resided there. They had been starving her for four days now, and today was the fifth. Her prison uniform hung on her body like a limp red sail and her once beautiful umber-tanned skin stretched across her face, lining every curve and angle of the skull beneath. It gave her the look of a woman starved and half-crazed.

With her concentration momentarily broken, the rat let out a terrifying screech and Katara blinked. Saliva coated her tongue with a thick film and she swallowed hard; her stomach rolled in mutinous waves. It was only a measure of pure exhaustion mixed with revulsion that made her drop her hand and let the rat go.

She watched as it scurried across the dirty floor, rushing to safety through a large crack in the adjacent wall. Leaning back against the cold stone, Katara exhaled sharply through her nose and tried her best not to break down and cry. The days seemed to be getting longer now and her thirst and hunger only grew with the waxing of the moon. Some day she might have to take that rat's life or one of its brothers if they didn't feed her soon.

Some day.

"Don't let temptation and despair get the best of you, my child."

Katara jumped in her seat before flattening her back against the wall. Had that voice come from inside her mind?

"Who said that?" she whispered. "Where are you? _Who_ are you?"

She feebly stood to her feet and glanced about the cell, terrified that she had finally gone over the edge and had gone mad. Lifting herself up onto the balls of her feet, Katara tried to look outside the window but could see nothing, no one. The voice had to have come from somewhere, though. It wasn't in her mind, was it? She wasn't going crazy—was she?

"I am a prisoner like you," the voice answered, and this time it was distinctly coming from the cell next to hers. "My name is Kala—Kala of the Southern Water Tribe."

"Southern Water Tribe?" Katara repeated, before quickly manoeuvring herself over to the crack in the wall where the rat had escaped through. She knelt on the dusty floor and peered inside to see the outline of an old woman sitting comfortably on a mat. She appeared to be meditating. "Are you a waterbender?"

The old woman inclined her head slightly, still meditating. Her light ebony skin seemed as thin and delicate as parchment. She reminded Katara of her Gran-Gran; however, Kala's hair was snow white, which was surprising due to the dusty conditions that the prisoners lived in. Yet that white hair was done up in the old southern style with sapphire beads fastened at the top.

"I was one of the last waterbenders taken by Fire Lord Azulon's men," Kala said, opening her eyes. Katara was struck by the lightness of their colour—a rheumatic blue that came with age and something else, though she knew not what. But it was Kala's eyes that drew Katara in; they were keen, observant and wise. "That is, before the fall of Hama."

_Hama?_ Katara warily drew back. "You knew her?"

Kala nodded, a serene smile blossoming on her lips. "She was one of my best friends. She and my cousin, Kanna."

"Kanna?" Katara's anger instantly dissipated, along with all the air in her lungs. "My Gran-Gran is your cousin?"

"You are Kanna's granddaughter?"

Katara nodded emphatically, touching her hand to her heart. "Yes, my name is Katara."

The old woman's eyes lit up with recognition for a moment before she closed her eyes and resumed her meditation. "You are a bloodbender, like Hama."

Katara let out a quiet gasp before lowering her eyes to her lap. "Yes," she admitted bitterly, feeling the bile rise to her throat. "Against my will."

Kala dropped her hands and shuffled towards Katara. Her movements were slow but fluid and surprisingly agile. She stared long and hard at Katara with those beguiling blue eyes of hers, and Katara felt something tug at the back of her mind. A sliver of a memory was trying to escape. When she resisted, the memory returned to her but the damage was already done—secrets were already stolen.

"I am sorry." Kala voice's was sincere and her eyes humbly begged forgiveness. "It's been so long since I've met with strangers. It's difficult for me to trust without knowing the true nature of your soul."

Katara merely blinked nonplussed at the old woman. Then a warmness engulfed her body—not heat but something else, like the nostalgic rush of sweet childhood memories. She suddenly felt at peace and Kala smiled pleasantly at this before nodding and offering a bow in respect. Katara humbly returned the bow, as though all trespasses were forgiven.

"I can see that you have resentment for Hama in your heart." Kala's smile turned sad. "She was the strongest out of all of us—the most powerful bender I've ever known, but she changed when she was brought here." She lowered her eyes to her hands. "We all did."

"Why didn't you escape with her?"

Kala steepled her fingers. "Hama was placed in isolation at the times—such was their fear of her. She couldn't have rescued me without facing all the guards on her own. And with no water that would have been difficult, even with bloodbending." She levelled her penetrating gaze on Katara. "They starved her off and on for years, like they are doing with you now."

Katara looked away. For so long she had condemned Hama for what she had done—not just what she had done to her but to innocent people. However, Katara was already bloodbending after three weeks of isolation and she had no idea what she would have done had she been imprisoned here for as long as Hama. Perhaps she would have become a spiteful, vengeful old woman, too—or worse.

"She did what she had to do," Kala said, as though reading Katara's mind. "I don't blame her for leaving without me. How she managed to get off this desert island, though, is a still a mystery to me even after all these years."

"What do you mean?"

"I know you think we prisoners are all weak and submissive—" Kala offered Katara a thin smile that didn't quite reach her eyes "—but we are just resigned to our fates. Many prisoners here have died trying to escape. For even if one of us was able to overpower the guards and leave, there is still the merciless desert outside and the unforgiving sea.

"And while the ocean is a waterbender's friend, we cannot drink it; we cannot travel on it for days until we find land, fresh water and food. Even if one of us had the strength to do that, it would require leaving the rest behind and no one here could do that. We are family—Fire Nation, Earth Kingdom and Water Tribe alike."

A hardness had lodged deep in Katara's throat, preventing her from swallowing. Shame welled up in her breast and she turned away, unable to look the old woman in the eye. "I'm sorry, Master Kala. I-I presumed, and that was wrong of me."

"It's all right, child." The old woman's voice was gentle, alleviating Katara's shame. "We are all weak in some way."

There followed a brief silence after their exchange. Katara was still looking down at the floor when she heard Kala shuffle closer to the wall.

"Here, take this."

Katara glanced up to see the old woman holding out a chunk of bread. Katara shook her head in refusal, even though her mouth watered at the sight of food. "N-no, I can't."

"I saw how you were eyeing the rat." When Katara cupped her burning cheeks in self-loathing, Kala's voice became gentler. "Do not be ashamed, child. We have all been at that crossroads before. Please—" she stuck the bread through the crack in the wall "—take it. You will not be depriving me. I can get food and water whenever I like."

Katara hesitantly took the bread and her stomach growled, getting the best of her. "But how?"

"The Blue Spirit," Kala answered simply with a knowing wink. "He takes care of us."

"The Blue Spirit?" Katara bit into the bread and a vision of Zuko sprung to mind. "Isn't he a vengeful god?"

Kala shrugged. "Perhaps in stories, but there is more to the Blue Spirit than revenge."

Katara was intrigued. Folding her legs underneath her, she took another bite out of the stale bread and suddenly felt thirstier than ever. A tickle rose to the back of her throat and she began coughing. Suddenly, Kala was bending water through the crack in the wall and right into the young woman's mouth.

"The water isn't much fresher than the bread," Kala said with a wry grin, handing over a small waterskin to Katara. "Ouji wanted to give this to you sooner, but he had no way to get to you when you're in the cage. Plus he was . . . detained."

Katara had spent the majority of her near three-week internment in a cage, only brought to a cell when interrogated. Last night was the first time she was not returned to her lofty prison.

"Ouji?" Katara coughed, taking a healthy sip from the waterskin. The water was stagnant but it felt good sliding down her parched throat.

"Ouji is the Blue Spirit."

"How is he able to get water?"

"He steals and . . ." Kala lowered her eyes. "Well, he spends most of his time in the coolers down below, as punishment for aiding us."

"He's a firebender?" Katara frowned thoughtfully. "I didn't know that many firebenders opposed Ozai's regime."

"Ouji," Kala spoke darkly, "had no choice in his opposition."

"What do you mean?"

"He was born here."

Katara arched an eyebrow in curiosity. "The prisoners can—?"

"Prisoners are not allowed conjugal visits, child." Kala chuckled and Katara's face flushed pink with embarrassment. "His father is a Fifth Columnists—one of the guards here at the time. His mother was from the Northern Water Tribe."

"_Was_?"

"She died in childbirth."

"So you took care of him?" Katara asked, quickly finished the bread, and Kala shook her head.

"No, Ouji was raised by the Painted Lady."

"The Painted Lady?" Katara's mouth fell open in shock and a vision of the beautiful river spirit swam through her mind.

"I can't say any more," Kala said, her voice softly cracking with emotion. "It's not my story to tell."

Katara nodded uncomfortably before taking one last drink from the waterskin and handing it back to Kala. "So, you're all like family, then?"

She felt a nostalgic tug on her heartstrings at her own words. Images of her own family of friends came to mind: Sokka, Aang, Toph and Zuko.

"And now you're a part of that family," Kala said gently, as though easing a painful blow, and Katara winced.

She exhaled sharply and glanced down at her hands. She was glad to have found a friend in this place but she certainly wasn't going to spend her life here. Captivity did not suit her; it never would.

"I won't be staying here much longer," Katara said, lifting a defiant chin, "and neither will you."

Kala only seemed to look sadder at this proclamation. "Easy words to speak, child, but far more difficult to render into action."

"I am strong!" Katara could feel the blood thrumming in her veins. She was almost tempted to reach out and show Kala how strong she was when she felt the old woman unbidden in her mind once more.

"Yes, you are someone who shapes her own destiny, who takes aggressive and resolute steps to create the certainty you wish to see. But even your imagination has limitations and must see reason." Kala shook her head. "You may escape these walls, but what then after? How will you find water in the desert?"

Kala fell silent for a long time, regarding the young bender with a baleful, unblinking gaze. Katara, in turn, unflinchingly met the older woman's eyes. However, she found herself wondering what kind of strength lay behind those pale blue eyes. What kind of power was hidden within this frail-looking woman who could so easily read her thoughts? But before Katara could frame her words, Kala's attention was swiftly diverted.

The old woman had her head cocked to the side, as though she were listening to a faraway voice. Katara cleared her mind and tried to listen as well, but she couldn't hear a thing, not even the pitter-patter of rats scurrying across the floor.

"They're here," Kala announced, as though she were in a trance.

"Who's here?"

"The Truth-Seers."

Kala hid her waterskin underneath her mat and resumed her lotus position, ignoring Katara entirely—as though nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred.

"Wait, the Truth-Seers?"

"Yin and Yang," the old woman answered without turning her head. "They arrived here shortly before the assassin. Though blind, they have the ability to see if you are lying, as well as glimpse the truths inside your mind. You must be wary of them. They are very dangerous."

Perturbed, Katara pressed her face against the wall, wondering why Kala had suddenly closed herself off. It was almost as though the old woman had severed a mental tie of some sort.

"They're _blind_?"

"Why yes," came a cheerful woman's voice from behind, "but we do have excellent hearing."

Katara turned around and jumped to her feet in shock. She hadn't even noticed that her cell door had been opened let alone that someone had entered. Standing regally in the threshold were two robed persons—a man and a woman. They both looked to be around the same age, somewhere in their late thirties or early forties, possibly older. Both had long, black hair and olive skin. Their eyes were a milky shade of white with no visible pupils. Disturbing was the best word to describe them.

"You must be the new prisoner," the woman said, her sightless eyes somehow trained on Katara. "The Avatar's soon-to-be-bride." She offered Katara what she probably thought was a charming smile, but there was far too much teeth to it and it made Katara shudder.

Katara then felt the familiar tug at the back of her mind like she had with Kala, but this sensation was vastly different. It felt invasive and threatening and utterly soulless, leaving a bitter taste on her mind's tongue.

"I am Yin." The tall woman gestured to herself and then rested a delicate hand on the shoulder of the man standing next to her. "And this is my brother, Yang."

Though superficially quite handsome, the man had an ugly look about him. Unlike his sister, who at least smiled and tried to appear pleasant, Yang had the face of someone who spent his life constantly scowling. Ignoring Katara completely, he walked over to where she had been sitting and stared unblinking at the wall, as though he could see through it.

"Kala," Yang called in a deep, rich voice, drawing out the syllables, "why so silent?"

Yin gave a tinkling laugh, which sounded oddly grotesque in the din of the cell. "I believe she's still angry with us about the Painted Lady, dear Brother."

Yang chortled with his sister, his dour face stretching with unaccustomed enjoyment. "You are probably right, Sister. But we did give her _lady_ all the proper funeral rites." His lips curled into an ugly sneer. "Too bad the bastard child was left without his surrogate mother."

"You're horrible!" Katara shouted at their backs, feeling her courage quickly return her.

Though weak, she stood defiantly in front of them with her hands curled into fists, crouching into an all-too-familiar defensive stance. Her prison uniform hung off her lithe body like a tent and she swayed with the dusty breeze that swept through the cell. The honest truth was that Katara could barely stand let alone fight. If the Truth-Seers could actually see, they would have most likely burst with laughter at such a comical sight. Instead, Yin smiled and took Katara by the arm.

"Oh, but you have no idea, my dear."

Yang stepped away from the wall and grabbed Katara's other arm. She tried to wrest herself free but quickly became impotent in their steely grips. She was too weak and hungry to move. Suddenly, something akin to the sensation of a shard of ice plunged into her right temple and she cried out. She tried to reach for her head but there was nothing—no ice, no weapon or physical injury of any kind. Still, she could feel the preternatural chill gnaw at her exposed skin. It was as though cold air radiated from the siblings themselves.

"She is a strong one," Yin said quietly to Yang. "We shouldn't press too hard, Brother."

Katara felt the sharp coldness instantly leave her mind and body and she slumped forward in their grip. "Where are you taking me?"

"It is time for you to have your talk with Kage-san," Yin said sweetly, sweeping away one of the guards at the door. "We're curious how much information he'll be able to get out of you."

An image of the masked assassin flitted through Katara's mind and she felt her blood run cold. "I will tell him nothing!" Terror prickled at her skin, but she held her chin high. "I will tell _you_ nothing!"

"We'll see about that, Waterbender."

The Truth-Seers quickly handed her off to two of the guards. The first one was young, dressed in a manner that showed off his well-muscled chest. The second one was unusually short and stocky, with brawny shoulders and thick hair barely concealed by the hood of his cloak. The two men immediately bound her wrists with rope before escorting her through the gallery into the dark subterranean depths below.

Her feet barely grazed the floor as they dragged her underground. She was so light that they could literally carry her down the stairs with little effort. Once they reached the lower levels a deep murk seemed to cling to the air—a murk that couldn't be masked by the glowing torches that hung on the wall. And as they travelled the familiar dirt pathway towards the interrogation room, Katara took in a deep breath and tried to absorb what little moisture she could—just in case.

When they reached the end of the corridor, the door to the interrogation cell was already open. With an unceremonious thrust, the guards threw her to the floor. Her wrists were still bound behind her back, so she couldn't brace her fall and she ended up skidding painfully to the ground. Her face collided with the hard stone and her teeth clicked and scraped against the inside of her cheek. She could taste the coppery blood in her mouth and felt like vomiting.

The door slammed shut behind her and Katara raised her head, adjusting her eyes to the dim torchlight. The assassin was leaning against the wall like he had been the day before.

Digging her shoulder into the floor, she pushed herself up onto her knees. When he took a step towards her, she spat at his feet with disgust, a glob of pink saliva saturating the dirty floor. With terrifying speed, he manoeuvred around her and brought his hands up underneath the crooks of her arms, lifting her onto her feet with a sudden jerk. She hadn't even noticed she'd been screaming until he thrust her chest against the wall, knocking the air and thereby the sound out of her lungs.

When he brought a short blade from his belt, she began to struggle violently and curse unintelligibly. The emotion that seized her now was not terror but seething rage. She swore, snapped her teeth at him and kicked—whatever was at her disposal to resist him. When he brought the blade down to her bonds and cut them loose, she froze in confusion.

"What—?"

He cupped her mouth with a large hand and lowered his lips to her ear. "Shh, they might be listening."

Confused and chastened yet still angered, Katara ceased her struggle. But now she was fully aware of the power of his body—the way his hand covered her entire mouth and even portions of her jaw, reminding her that if he were ever so inclined he could clench those fingers and crush her face like an insect, leaving her maimed for life. Fortune, however, smiled upon her because the assassin chose not to mangle her. Instead, he brought his other hand up to his own face.

She jerked momentarily in his grip and tried to turn her head to look up at him to see what he was doing. When his hand came away, the horrific skull mask was grasped tightly between his fingers. She shuddered at the gleaming silver-white monstrosity, fearful of what kind of face lay underneath.

"It's me," the assassin whispered. His voice was now less muffled by the mask and slightly familiar. "_Zuko_."

Katara stilled completely now, her eyes widening in shock. Zuko was here dressed like a Fifth Column assassin? Not likely.

His grip on her mouth loosened somewhat, but his lips were still hot against her ear. "Don't react when I let you go."

He cautiously lowered his hand from her mouth and she spun around to face him. His face was still covered by the black hood but she could see his eyes more clearly now without the mask—eyes a soft golden colour that she recognised all too well.

Her fingers instinctively went to his left eye, smudging the black paint underneath. She could feel the texture of his puckered scar beneath it and almost wept with joy as she trailed her fingertips upwards to touch his hairless brow. But even with those familiar eyes staring at her, the right eye wider than the left, she couldn't be sure. What if this was a trick to make her talk?

When he reached up with his free hand, she instinctively flinched, thinking he was going to strike her. Instead, his fingers found the opening of his hood and he lifted it off, revealing his face and hair underneath. Even through the black paint his face was unmistakeable. It was Zuko.

"Zu—"

His fingers went to her lips and his eyes narrowed, shifting nervously about the room until he motioned to the door with his head. She nodded in understanding but lunged forward anyway, wrapping her frail arms around his neck. He held her awkwardly, as though the slightest bit of pressure would break her. When she nuzzled her face into his neck, he rested his chin on the top of her head and sighed with relief.

"We're going to have to speak in code and carry on like I'm interrogating you," he whispered, before setting her down and holding her out at arm's length. "And it has to be believable because they have Truth-Seers who can tell if the either of us is lying."

Katara nervously bit her bottom lip but agreed with a nod. She had only spent a few minutes with the siblings, but in that short amount of time she had felt their invasive powers. She wondered if they could read the tone and pitch of her voice or feel the pulse of her heart like Toph could. Regardless if they could or could not, they seemed to be able to do a lot more than just sense if she was lying. It was as though they had the ability to enter her mind and read her thoughts—and punish her for them.

"How are we going to be able to talk without the guards getting suspicious?" she whispered, wishing that they could just speak plainly.

"How about we talk this way for starters?" Zuko had slipped fluently into Southern Water Tribe dialect and Katara's mouth dropped open in surprise.

"H-how do you know our dialect?" she asked in her native tongue, cringing when her own accent wasn't nearly as polished as his.

Very few knew the old language and even fewer spoke it, with the exception of her father, Bato, Gran-Gran and a few elders. Luckily Katara had paid enough attention to her lessons to understand and communicate on a basic level.

"Know thine enemy," Zuko said with a raised eyebrow. "But we can't always communicate this way or they'll get suspicious. We should still be quiet."

He sat cross-legged on the floor and Katara joined him. There was a table and chair in the room but neither felt like sitting there. Here, on the ground sitting across from one another, it almost felt like old times.

"Next visit I'll sneak in some paper." He grabbed a hold of both her hands and squeezed gently. "They won't let me bring ink or any liquids but I have just the thing—a present from Toph."

Katara's brow furrowed in curiosity. "Why didn't you bring it for this visit?"

"Because—" he let go of her hands and reached inside his tunic "—I could only fit _this_."

In Zuko's hands was a small bundle wrapped in black cloth. He handed it to her and she carefully opened it, revealing a slice of bread and a ball of cold rice.

"I know they've been starving you. Since I have privileges to see you, well . . . I'm going to bring food with me every time I come visit." He frowned thoughtfully. "I haven't figured out how to bring in water, yet. Give me until this afternoon—evening, tops."

Tears of gratitude welled up in her eyes. "Oh, Zu—"

"Shh!" He put a finger to her lips. "Not specific names. They can still tell."

Unfortunately there were no words for Zuko in her mother tongue, as there weren't for any given names.

"Why are you here?" She handled the bundle of food with great care, her mouth watering. Even though Kala had given her bread, she was still hungry and the rice looked delicious. "And why are you dressed like an assassin?"

Zuko waved his hand dismissively. "It's a long story."

"I have time." Katara grinned despite her situation and took a nibble out of the cold ball of rice. "_Entertain_ me."

Zuko nodded and then began to recount the past two years of his life in a rather succinct manner, filling her in on all the details up until the point he had heard the news that she'd been abducted by the Fifth Column. When he finally finished his tale, she had eaten the rice and was now throwing up her hands in disgust.

"You told Sok—_my brother_—but you never told _me_?"

Zuko flinched. Despite the fact that he was a highly trained assassin, Katara's temper still scared the hell out of him. "Your brother is the one who helped me come up with the idea of the relocation programme in the first place."

"You still could have told me." She folded her arms beneath her breasts. "You just didn't trust me."

"Of course I trust you. I trust you with my life." He put a hand on her shoulder, which she thankfully didn't shrug off in her indignation. "But by keeping this information from you I thought it would prevent something like _this_—" he motioned to their surroundings "—from happening. If you were somehow caught and questioned, you wouldn't know anything and therefore wouldn't be tortured."

Katara snorted. "Fat lot of good that did me."

Zuko dropped his hand. "You're not being tortured because of _me_."

"No—no, I'm not saying that. I . . ."

Katara paused and turned away in uncomfortable silence. She felt ashamed at her insinuation of Zuko's involvement in her torture. He had obviously risked much to find her. She should have been more appreciative of his sacrifices.

"Where's the Avatar?" Zuko asked suddenly, and Katara felt her defensive walls rise. The Fifth Column had been questioning her about Aang since her arrival. But this was Zuko asking her. Zuko was like a brother to Aang and a very dear friend of theirs. As though sensing her discomfort, Zuko leaned in close to her ear so that he could speak plainly. "I just want to know that Aang's all right."

Katara took in a relived breath and nodded. "Yes, he's fine. He found an undiscovered Air Temple."

Zuko's good eyebrow disappeared into his hairline. "Really?" He easily slipped back into the Southern dialect. "So he finally found companions for the lemur and bison?"

Katara smiled. "Yes, but also something much more important than that."

"What?"

She leaned in close so that she could whisper in his ear. "An ancient race of Air Nomads—_living ones_."

"That's amazing!" A true smile rose to Zuko's lips, instantly transforming him into a boy. "That's why you haven't told them anything. You want to keep their secret safe."

"Aa—the Avatar probably doesn't even know that I'm gone," Katara said, her eyes misting over with unshed tears. "He said he'd be gone for three months but he's so isolated where he is. There's no way for him to find out what's happened to me."

She held her face in her hands and slowly gave into despair. It had taken three weeks but she had finally allowed herself to cry—now that there was someone to share in her grief. Folding her into his arms, Zuko held her tightly while her body shook with violent sobs that tapered off almost as soon as they had begun.

"It's worse," he said with a sigh, and she pulled back to look up at him. "They sent ransom to my double on the throne, but I'm not sure if he's been compromised."

"What do you mean?"

"My uncle would have sent word to me about your disappearance had he received a note but I ended up finding out about your abduction through the society itself." He brought a hand to her face and gently wiped away her tears with the pad of his thumb. "I haven't heard from my uncle since you were abducted and I'm worried."

Now it was time for Katara to comfort him. Despite her frail appearance, she put a thin hand on his shoulder and squeezed firmly. Leaning forward, she rested her cheek against his chest while he lifted a palm to press on the small of her back.

"If something was wrong you would have heard about it by now, and so would've I." She pulled back and offered him a reassuring smile, which he feebly returned—if only just to please her. "Do you think there's a spy in your imperial court?"

"It's quite possible." He uncrossed his legs and stood up, gently lifting her up with him. "It would explain why my uncle hasn't been trying to contact me. He's taking precautions."

Katara nodded and took a seat at the table, placing her bundle next to Zuko's mask. "My brother's bound to know I'm missing now and he will get in contact with your uncle, and then maybe they can find Aa—the Avatar."

"That's all well and good, but we need to get you out of here soon."

"Why?"

"The warden said that if they didn't get information out of you soon, they'd resort to more drastic measures."

Katara frowned. "More drastic than torturing and starving me?"

"Yes."

"Do you—do you think they'll kill me?"

Zuko stared at his mask before slowly shaking his head. "No, they need their answers first."

"But—" Realisation suddenly dawned on Katara and she braced her hands against the edge of the table. "_Oh_."

Zuko took a step forward and protectively gathered her in his arms. "I won't let that happen. I won't let anyone touch you."

"But how are we going to escape?"

She was trying to control the tremor in her voice, but it was a losing battle. She buried her face in his chest again and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist. Somehow he made her feel safe just by being near. In a prison, constantly fearing for her life and her sanity, Zuko's mere presence gave her back her ability to breathe, to think, to hope.

"I'm still working on a plan," he said, absently smoothing down her ratted hair with a large palm. "I've been studying the architecture and the guards' schedules." Zuko pulled back and looked down into her big blue eyes. "We have a little less than a week, but I'll figure out something."

"A week?"

"That's when you'll have a full moon at your disposal." He smiled and then pointed at the food on the table. "But we need to get your strength back first."

Katara stared at the bread and was suddenly reminded of Kala. "We need to free the other prisoners, too."

"That's a noble idea, but I'd like to be able to keep my cover and, if failing that, be able to keep you alive."

Katara lowered her hands to her hips. "Why is keeping your cover so important?"

"Don't get me wrong." His golden eyes flickered dangerously in the torchlight. "If I have to choose between you and keeping my identity a secret, I'll choose you without question."

Katara suddenly felt something warm and wet on her face, and that was when she realised she was crying—crying happily for once.

"But this is still important to me and to my nation." Zuko gently cupped her face, wiping away an unbidden tear. "I'm so close to finding out who the leader of the Fifth Column is."

"How?"

"I work directly under the second in command, General Yao. Yao seems to be suspicious of Kenzo, the warden here, and the general wants me to kill Kenzo after I get the information he wants from you."

Katara exhaled sharply. "Do you normally kill people?" She instantly regretted opening her mouth the moment the words came out. "Stupid question. You're an assassin."

He lowered his hands to her shoulders and then dropped them entirely to his sides. "I don't murder the civilians they send me to kill, if that's what you're asking. I send those people to your brother, remember?" He brought a thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose, staving off a migraine. "But I have killed Fifth Columnists." He lowered his hand and glanced up at her. "I'm what you would call a cleaner: someone who 'thins' the inner ranks of the society."

Katara frowned at the title, but who was she to judge? "So, do you think Kenzo is the main leader?"

"No, but I think he might know who is." Zuko suddenly stilled, holding Katara close to him as he trained his ear towards the door. "Someone's coming."

He let go of her and grabbed his black hood off the table, pulling it over his head before slipping his mask over top. He then took Katara's binds from his belt and quickly tied her hands behind her back before shoving the remainder of her food inside the folds of her tunic.

"No, they'll inspect me," she whispered.

He took the food and slipped it into his own shirt before a knock sounded on the door and it opened wide. A guard stood underneath the threshold, bowing respectfully to the assassin who now had Katara pinned up against the wall with a bo-shuriken to her throat.

"Kage-sama, Nobleman Kenzo wishes to speak with you."

Zuko cut thinly into Katara's neck and she cried out. Perturbed, the guard nervously licked his lips and closed the door, deciding to wait outside for the assassin to finish. Once the guard was gone, Zuko drew back, whispering his apologies to Katara.

"It's okay," she said, feeling the blood trickle down her neck. It was a superficial wound, not even worth healing.

"I'll visit you when I can," he said, tucking the short blade up his sleeve. "And I'll bring water with me next time—hopefully tonight."

Katara nodded and then stepped forward, her hands still bound behind her back. "Zuko?" she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear, and he turned.

"Yes?"

He looked terrifying with his mask on and she supposed that was its purpose. But Katara could still see her friend beneath the black, deathly layers—see his golden eyes soften from behind the gleaming white skull.

"Thank you for finding me."

His eyes crinkled into a smile and he took a step towards her. Bringing a large warm palm to the back of her neck, Zuko pulled Katara close and rested his chin on the top of her head. Filled with a sense of love and relief, she closed her eyes and sighed into his chest.

"It was _never_ an option, Katara."

* * *

**Translations: **

*Ouji (oh-gee) is Japanese for _prince_.


	4. Yin and Yang

ZUKO ASCENDED TO the upper level of the prison with purposeful strides, deliberately stalking past the gallery and up the shadowy staircase. He didn't care to be interrupted, especially when he was with Katara and least of all by Kenzo's men. How dare the warden think he could just summon him whenever he pleased? He was Kage, the Fifth Column's greatest assassin, not some errand boy.

Two guards flanked him on either side in escort, out of respect or fear he did not know. As he neared Kenzo's office, with a steady tread consonant with his power and station, Zuko's thoughts began to darken, shadowing with his past. He had come a long way from the banished prince who dressed himself in the mask of the Blue Spirit, but so quickly had he devolved over the past two years into the man he had never wanted to be.

Was this mission worth it? Was it worth leaving his country and family behind? Would he find the answers he sought, or was it all for naught? He began to wonder if being an assassin—a vengeful 'spirit'—was his true destiny.

Once he approached the door, the subordinates next to him suddenly paled. They hesitated, their nerves frayed, and the shorter of the two brought a hand to his temple with a wince. Zuko grimaced. Something was wrong.

He immediately controlled his breathing and cleared his mind of all distracting thoughts. This was obviously no ordinary meeting. Kenzo must have had the Truth-Seers waiting in his office to question him about Katara. But Zuko had barely spent enough time with her before he was called away, so they couldn't have expected much progress from him—could they've?

Normally Zuko wouldn't have been worried about such an interrogation. Over the years he had learnt to be cunning and diplomatic and was able to mask his true motives with ease. He could even lie to Toph, which was an extraordinary feat in its own right. After all, Zuko had learnt from the very best: his sister, Azula.

With his controlled breathing and daily meditation, he had developed the ability to slow and regulate his pulse, relaxing both body and mind. These Truth-Seers shouldn't be able to detect the lies in his tone of voice or the vibrations of his body. And even if they could, Zuko would fool them easily enough.

The guards stepped to the side and permitted Zuko entrance, letting him travel the rest of the way alone. He opened the door without hesitation and stepped inside, not quite knowing what to expect but to be on his guard. There sitting at the desk was Kenzo. He rose at the sight of the assassin with the gleaming silver skull mask and smiled.

"Kage-san, I'm delighted that you could make it," he said with false sincerity, before turning his attention to the two people standing next to him. "I'd like to introduce you to the Truth-Seers."

A man and woman of relative height stood regally next to one another. The man was perhaps an inch or two taller than the woman and of the same colouring and indiscriminate age—putting them in their early forties. Both were remarkably attractive in appearance, with flawless lightly tanned skin and razor-sharp cheekbones. Both were wearing hoods; however, he could see the thick, luxuriant black hair peeking out from underneath.

The woman's hair was twisted into a thick cable that hung over one shoulder and trailed away only when it reached the swell of her breasts. The man's hair looked to be equally long but was loose; the top was pinned and most likely knotted underneath the hood. Their robes were rich and ornate, sporting the Fifth Column colours and insignia.

One could see the shapes of their bodies through the outlines of the fabric that clung tightly to their hips and chests. They both had a slender, aquiline cut to their figures, but there was a hardness to their features—their faces mainly—that took away from their Apollonian beauty. More than anything it was their sightless white eyes that unnerved Zuko. They were strikingly unnatural and seemed to focus on him with a clarity that only the sighted possessed.

"I am Yin," the woman said with a throaty voice, offering Zuko a small bow of respect, "and this is my brother, Yang."

The man didn't bother to bow. There was a small frown on his face, marring his leonine features. It was then that Zuko noticed the real similarities between the two—that they were not simply brother and sister but twins.

Kenzo stirred at his desk and Zuko watched him out of the corner of his eye. The warden appeared agitated and apprehensive—almost wary. A brute and a tyrant, Kenzo was a hard man to intimidate, but the twins seemed to make him cow in their very presence. Zuko wondered if General Yao knew this—knew about the power these Truth-Seers held. He would have to send him a messenger hawk after this meeting, and maybe send one to his uncle, too.

Zuko had been delivering encrypted letters to his uncle's tea shop, The Jasmine Dragon, in Ba Sing Se for the past few weeks, in hopes that Iroh had somehow received them. Zuko dared not send letters to the royal palace in fear that they'd be intercepted and his hawk be tracked to discover his whereabouts. But since he had yet to receive word or confirmation of receipt, perhaps it was time to send another letter to Phanom Rung, his uncle's private retreat.

"We're here to discuss your progress with the waterbender," Kenzo said, stepping out from around his desk.

The older man leaned against the ledge of the table, absently resting a hand on a rolled-up piece of parchment branded with the Fifth Column seal, which was essentially the Fire Nation insignia with a double flame. Unlike the Phoenix King's domestic army, the Fifth Column adhered to strict Fire Nation customs and were far less ostentatious in their regalia. The low profile made it easier for the organisation to remain successfully underground.

"Well?"

Kenzo crossed his arms over his barrelled chest while Zuko's eyes remained fixed on the parchment. Were they secret plans or orders from the Fifth Column's leader? Zuko was stealthy, but could he possibly steal the scroll out from underneath Kenzo and the Truth-Seers' noses? Unlikely.

All eyes were on him now, expecting an answer. He could tell them the truth, that he hadn't had enough time with Katara before he was summoned, or he could remain silent and let them figure it out on their own. But just as he opted for silence as an answer, the air in the room became thick and the black vaults overheard seemed to lower and contract.

Zuko felt a pressing weight on his chest that rose up to his temples, compressing his head in a vice-like grip. The cool dexterous touch of incorporeal fingers reached into his mind and plucked memories from the space like strings on a harp. He tried to resist at first, but the pain only intensified. Then the world suddenly blazed bright and hot and a searing white pain invaded his mind, growing hotter then cold then hot again.

Panting, Zuko changed his tactics and willingly offered the twins his memories, showing them glimpses of his past as Lee and the Blue Spirit. As they searched his mind, Zuko's eyes became slits, pressed half-closed from the immense pressure inside his head. He could see the Truth-Seers standing in front of him; their hands were linked and their sightless eyes opened wide. Smiles lingered on their lips. They seemed content, glad to have stolen a part of him as though it were something to feast upon.

Once he fully surrendered himself, he was just as suddenly released and the flame in his mind disappeared, leaving little more than the tactile memory of pain. He stumbled backwards and tried valiantly not to gasp for air.

"I'm impressed," Yin said, folding her arms inside her sleeves. "Very few can manage to resist us without suffering _permanent_ damage."

Zuko's eyes narrowed. Was this their power? Was this how they saw truths? It was pure torture.

"But we did catch a glimpse of your humble past, _Lee_." Yang smiled contemptuously and Zuko could only sneer under his mask. If they only knew the real truth.

"It doesn't matter what dirt he rose out of," Yin said to her brother, moving past him towards Zuko. She lifted her sleeves and reached out to touch her fingers to the assassin's gleaming silver mask. "What matters is the here and now, and this assassin will do our bidding. Won't you, Kage-san?"

Zuko bowed humbly and the female Truth-Seer removed her hand before stepping back beside her brother. Out of the two, Yin appeared to be the most cunning and articulate, gifted with a silver tongue. Her voice dripped like honey and her mannerisms, withstanding her blindness, were calculated and graceful. Zuko's instincts, however, told him to fear her most, and he was inclined to trust those instincts.

"So you haven't got any information out of her yet?" Yang asked, his dark brow creasing in vexation while Kenzo looked on with unmasked glee.

"Brother, it seems as though he was interrupted before he could question the bender." Yin tilted her head to the side, as though she were visually examining the assassin. "Isn't that correct, Kage-san?"

Zuko inclined his head ever-so slightly in answer and Kenzo glowered at his desk. Zuko wasn't sure what the purpose of this meeting was, except for him to be introduced to the Truth-Seers and asked asinine questions—and to have his mind literally invaded. Maybe it was an intimidation tactic. If so, it was working.

"I don't see how he's going to get any more information out of her that Nobleman Kenzo and his men haven't already," Yang said before adding darkly, "which is nothing." Kenzo's face seemed to fall even further, darkening a scarlet red. "She'll die before she gives up the Avatar and her friends."

"Dear Brother, can't you see that this one is different from the others?" Yin placed a hand on Yang's chest. Her long nails were filed to a point, reminding Zuko of Azula. "Kage-san is . . . _special_."

Yang, however, didn't seem to agree. He sneered, placing his own hand on top of Yin's. They both stilled for a moment, sightless eyes seemingly peering into Zuko's. He felt that familiar tug at the back of his mind, travelling coldly down his neck and spine, flooding outwards until it reached his heart with a fresh fiery warmth.

"If you say so, Sister."

Yang's brow creased sceptically yet again while Yin grinned coquettishly at Zuko. Although Yin's comely and demure appearance would likely fool any man, Zuko was not so easily convinced. He had trafficked in her kind most of his life. How else would he have survived the royal palace of the Fire Nation?

"We won't keep you long." Yin's voice was a gentle purr. "We just wanted to meet the infamous Kage-san. We have great expectations concerning you and what information you can retrieve from the waterbender."

Kenzo, who was watching the exchange with a mild look of disgust and envy, turned to face the twins. "Forgive me for asking, but why is that the both of you aren't interrogating the bender yourselves?" He bowed lowly and added respectfully, "As gifted as you both are."

An annoyed expression flitted across Yin's features and she dropped her hand before exhaling sharply. "You are forgiven, nobleman, but do not step out of your scope of influence and knowledge again."

Kenzo recoiled at the unspoken threat and Yin only smiled.

"My brother and I will be interrogating the waterbender once she is properly broken. You see, our powers can be somewhat overwhelming to the average mind. If you resist us too hard for too long a time, well—" she turned to direct her sightless eyes at Zuko "—simply put, you will die."

"So you will break her for us," said Yang, with a trace of mirth on his lips.

Zuko's blood ran cold at the thought, wondering what kind of terrible powers these two possessed. During this moment of reflection, a heavy silence filled the room until Kenzo unceremoniously cleared his throat and returned to his seat behind the desk.

"You may resume to your interrogation, Assassin," he said in a dismissive tone, busying himself with papers.

Zuko looked to the Truth-Seers first, waiting for their official dismissal. Both nodded and Zuko bowed respectfully, ignoring the warden entirely. He turned to leave when Kenzo called out to him.

"One moment." He lifted a small scroll off his desk and held it out. "This letter came to you from General Yao earlier this morning."

Zuko stepped forward and took the proffered parchment, subtly eyeing the other documents lying on the warden's desk.

"You may use one of my messenger hawks for correspondence, if you like." Kenzo's lips parted in a mocking smile. "Give the general my warmest regards."

Zuko stilled and gave the warden a brief bow, his hands travelling downwards.

"Kage-san," Yin interrupted from behind, "we'd like you to bring the prisoner some water."

Kenzo's smile disappeared entirely, and his neck snapped in tandem as he turned his attention to the twins. "Water?" He shook his head and raised his hands in hesitation. "Yin-sama, I must respectfully object—"

"Your objection is noted," she interrupted haughtily, dismissing the warden like a chastised child. "I'd like to see how well-managed the girl is so far."

"And if she is as broken-in as you claim her to be," Yang added. His sightless eyes were trained on Kenzo, who swallowed audibly.

"If she drinks," Yin said, "then she fears Kage-san."

"And if she attacks?" Kenzo asked, and Yin simply smiled and held her hand out to her brother.

"Then drastic measures will have to be taken."

Tucking the letter into his belt, Zuko offered his obeisance to the Truth-Seers once more and swiftly exited the room. He didn't wish to stay there any longer. He made his way from the corridor to the stairwell, descending the steps with silent agility, until he found himself alone and unobserved in a short connecting passageway.

With a slight of hand, he removed the other scroll with the Fifth Column emblem from his sleeve and surreptitiously tucked it into his belt with the second scroll. Teeth bore in a snarl, he smashed his empty fist against the wall and imagined it to be the twins' faces—and Kenzo's. When he felt the skin pull away from his knuckles and the blood soak through the fabric of his gloves, he stopped and relaxed.

Straightening out his hand, Zuko took a steady step forward and then another. He swiftly headed to his room, intent on taking care of one last piece of business before revisiting Katara's cell.

**.**

**.**

**.**

THE BLAZING SUN climbed high in the sky as sandstorms thrashed at the barren land in the distance. Zuko squinted against the harsh glare and the mist of sand that crept into every crevice. Noon was yet to come, the worst heat was beyond that, and already the day was like walking through an oven.

He had left his robes back in his room, but he was still dressed all in black from head to toe. Though he didn't normally sweat, he was sweating now. The moisture caused his fine linen shirt to cling to his chest, stomach and back. There was no escaping this heat.

The dragon hawk squawked loudly on his arm before ruffling its feathers. It too was clearly agitated with the oppressive heat, making its displeasure known. Withdrawing a scroll from his belt, Zuko looked down at it with some disdain before slipping it into the canister set on the dragon hawk's back.

He had written to General Yao, detailing his meeting with the prisoner as well as the warden and the Truth-Seers. His hope was that Yao would respond with some information regarding the twins. Their powers were unnatural—_they were unnatural_. Somehow they had read his mind and stolen his very thoughts, but it was so much more than that. It was like they were searching his heart, his very soul. He couldn't explain it, but he needed to find out who they were and how they were tied to the Fifth Column before he escaped this hell-hole.

Without preamble, Zuko gave instruction to his dragon hawk before lifting his arm in the air. The bird took to flight, its red wings spreading wide to the air, and Zuko watched it go with a thoughtful frown. He would have to send his own messenger hawk, Ryu, to his uncle's later that night in secret. If General Yao was unwilling or unable to share information, then perhaps Uncle Iroh would know who these twins were. First, however, he needed to bring Katara water.

Adjusting the waterskin slung over his shoulder, he let out a weary sigh before regulating his body temperature against the oppressive heat. He then made his way back inside the prison and down into the subterranean depths of the interrogation cells, feeling the weight of his earlier meeting settle on his chest and shoulders. The sound of voices carrying up the stairs stirred him from his ruminations and immediately put him on the defensive.

He glanced down to see two Fifth Columnists emerging from a sculpted tunnelled wall on the other end of the interrogation cells. They were dragging someone along with them, a prisoner. He looked young—in his late teens or early twenties—with mocha-coloured skin and long chestnut-brown hair done in dreadlocks with blue beads set on the ends. He was undoubtedly Water Tribe, but Zuko had no idea what was he doing being held down below.

"We could send you to the coolers a thousand times over but you still wouldn't learn your lesson, would you, Blue Spirit?" The stocky guard shook the prisoner fiercely, but the young man remained silent.

_Blue Spirit?_ Zuko kept close to the wall as he descended the stairs in the darkness of the shadows, observing the scene with mild interest.

The boy looked cold and stiff, like he couldn't move his limbs. His jailers had to drag him along and almost carry him up the stairs. The taller guard, who was possibly in his late fifties (but still strong-looking), gently lifted while the shorter guard yanked the prisoner forward.

Zuko absently wondered how long the boy had been down there. He had spent some time in the coolers at Boiling Rock, but he had the luxury of using his fire breath to keep warm. This Water Tribe warrior was probably not so fortunate and had most likely spent more than a few hours in his frozen cell.

"Maybe we should send one of your friends down here next time you break the rules, Blue Spirit." The stocky guard laughed briefly before his expression soured. "Maybe Chen or Kala."

The young man lifted his head. "No!"

He struggled valiantly against the shackles that held him, but he was obviously too weak or too injured to break free. The shorter man just laughed louder at the boy's feeble efforts, holding him limply by the arms, while the taller man helped him up the stairs. They hadn't even noticed Zuko on the landing until they were right in front of him.

"Kage-sama!" The stocky guard glanced up, startled. "Excuse us, sir." He cleared his throat and spoke in a deep voice, "We have to escort this unruly prisoner back to his cell."

Zuko didn't even bother to acknowledge them but continued to watch the boy through the slits in his mask. Though badly malnourished, the young man appeared to be quite strong, with hard, sinewy muscle hidden underneath his red prison uniform. When he lifted his chin in defiance, Zuko could have sworn the boy was a younger version of Katara's father, Hakoda.

What was a Water Tribe prisoner doing being held below in the coolers?

Not troubling himself to watch them go, Zuko continued down the stairs and made his way through the narrow corridor where two other guards stood watch in front of a locked door—the interrogation cell. The guard closest to the door unlocked it and stood aside when they saw the assassin approach. Zuko dismissed them easily with a wave of his hand. They would retreat back to the room near the staircase and wait for their next order.

Hand on the handle, Zuko swiftly opened the door to see Katara slumped over in her chair. Her arms were still tied behind her back and she appeared to be sleeping. When he closed the door shut, the hinges groaned and the waterbender jumped in her seat. It took a few seconds for her to register who he was and blink the sleep out of her eyes.

"It's you," she croaked, her pupils still dilated in fright. "I didn't think you were coming back. I was—I was worried."

He walked over to where she sat and swiftly undid her bonds with a flick of his wrist. "I'd never leave without you," he whispered. "But you should never address me so informally when I enter the room."

She opened her mouth to speak but he put a finger to her lips and withdrew a piece of parchment from his belt, along with a long slender piece of wood with a granular black tip. It was his gift from Toph: a charcoal pencil, she called it—for writing. While he couldn't be certain that the guards weren't trying to eavesdrop on his 'interrogation' of Katara, his hearing was good enough to sense if someone was approaching, and that could at least buy them some time. Until then Zuko and Katara would have to communicate via pencil and paper—just to play it safe.

He unfolded the paper and smoothed it out on the table before setting down the pencil to write. Katara stood up, rubbing her sore wrists, and looked over his shoulder to observe his scribbling. When he was done, she read the note.

_"You can never be sure if it's me who enters this room to interrogate you. Someone could be dressed as me to fool you—so never speak to me when I first enter the room. Wait until I verify who I am. Also, even though the Truth-Seers aren't here, we still have to be wary of the guards, which is why I want us to communicate this way and only speak aloud when we're certain no one's listening."_

When she finished reading, she nodded and put her hand on his. Squeezing his palm, she took the pencil from his fingers and began to write.

_"How did your meeting with the warden go?"_ She handed him back the pencil.

_"I meet the Truth-Seers, Yin and Yang. I assumed they'd be like Toph—you know how she can tell if you're lying?—but they're nothing like her. They steal your memories." He underlined the sentence twice and looked back at her meaningfully. "We have to be very careful. Once they enter your mind you have to give them what they seek or the end result is pain. I was able to show them half-truths, like pieces of a puzzle, but not the whole. They seem to have bought it for now."_

_"Can they read your mind?"_

_"Not literally—at least I don't think. Or at least I hope not."_

"Close enough," Katara muttered darkly.

Zuko nodded and set down the pencil before walking over to the door and putting his ear against the cool surface. He could hear nothing, feel no vibrations. The guards were far enough away that they could speak more freely.

"I brought you some water," he said, slipping into Water Tribe dialect.

He unslung the waterskin and handed it to Katara. She eagerly took it, nodding her thanks, and uncorked the top before tipping the neck back to her mouth. She drank greedily, her throat undulating as she let the water pour down.

"You didn't smuggle it in?" she asked, taking a breath, and he shook his head.

"No, they wanted me to give it to you."

Katara took another drink and coughed once before corking the waterskin and setting it on the table. "Why?"

"To see if you'd use it to fight me or to see if you were—"

"Broken?" Katara sat back down on the chair across from him and sighed. "I just never thought the warden would be so careless."

"They're not his orders." Zuko folded his arms across his chest and carefully watched the door. "They're Yin and Yang's."

Katara visibly shuddered. "I have a terrible feeling about them."

"You're right to trust those feelings. They're invasive; they get inside your head." He frowned. "It's unnerving."

He uncrossed his arms and knelt in front of Katara. Taking her hands in his, he checked her wrists. They were red and swollen and already bruising from the bindings. He pointed at the waterskin to suggest that she heal them, but she just shook her head.

"I think it's more than that," she whispered, leaning down. "I was only with them for a moment but it almost felt like they were searching my—my—"

"Soul?"

She swallowed hard and nodded. Taking a deep breath, she removed her hands from his so that she could rub some circulation back into her wrists. "I don't know how we're going to fool them. I know you said you did, but I'm not as strong as you are."

"No." Zuko stood back up. "You're _stronger_."

Katara gave him a feeble smile before putting on her determined face. "So, they're the ones running the show now?" When he nodded yes, she began to worry her bottom lip with her teeth. "Are they going to read my mind?"

"Not yet, I don't think. They want to make sure you're properly broken first."

Katara's brow knitted in confusion. "Why not break me themselves?"

Warily glancing at the door, Zuko picked up the pencil and began to write.

_"If they question you and you resist, they can kill you—and they don't want you dead yet. They want their answers."_

"Are you saying they can kill me with their minds?"

_"From what they said and from what I experienced, I think so. It seems to be their process—a dangerous process—and I don't think they can control it."_

"What do you mean?"

_"I don't think they can simply take information from you unless you're willing. They can't read your mind or your memories unless you let them in. If you resist, the connection can kill you."_

Katara's eyes widened and she brought a hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp. Zuko lowered the pencil and knelt back down in front of Katara, placing both hands on either side of the armrests.

"I _felt_ their power. I struggled only a little and it felt like—" he clenched his hands tightly around the wood "—it felt like they were plunging an ice shard into my brain before setting it on fire."

Katara glanced away, hissing softly. After a moment's pause, she turned back and reached over to place a hand on top of his. His fingers loosened and she slipped her own in between.

Zuko glanced down, seeing their fingers entwined, and he suddenly felt useless. He knew that this was going to be a difficult mission, but these Truth-Seers were going to make it damn-near impossible. He had entered the prison with the rationalisation that he might not be able to keep his cover, but _this_ he had not anticipated. How could he possibly save Katara now?

"Something's odd," she mumbled, drawing her hand away.

Zuko's eyes searched hers, watching as she took up the pencil in her hand. She slid the paper towards her and began writing furiously.

_"There's an old woman in the cell next to mine—Kala of the Southern Water Tribe. She was one of the last waterbenders taken during Azulon's reign. She can do things like the Truth-Seers. She read my mind without my permission, but it wasn't painful. It was uncomfortable at first but after that it was like she did something else and I felt better than I had since I arrived here."_

Zuko leaned in close to her ear. "Can you ask her about the twins?"

Katara nodded and began writing. _"When they entered my cell, the man mocked her. They seem to know each other, and I think they did something to the Painted Lady and her son, the Blue Spirit."_

"The Blue Spirit?"

_"There's a prisoner here—a boy who was born in captivity."_

Zuko grabbed the pencil and began describing the boy he saw on the stairs; around eighteen to twenty with light brown hair, blue eyes, tanned skin and obviously Water Tribe.

_"I don't know,"_ Katara wrote. _"I've never met him. I think his name is Ouji, but he goes by the Blue Spirit. Kala told me his mother was Water Tribe."_

Zuko frowned. "The Painted Lady?"

_"Not the real Painted Lady—I don't think so anyway. Kala called her that. She's the woman who raised the boy after his real mother died in childbirth. I don't know the specifics; Kala wouldn't tell me. Apparently the Painted Lady was respected here. I don't know who she could've been—if that was just a nickname. But the boy is a firebender. His father was one of the guards here."_

Zuko put his hand on Katara's shoulder and squeezed it gently. He was intrigued by the story but he had more important things to think about, like figuring out a way to escape. At times like these he wished Sokka were here; he'd know what to do. Even if his plan sounded stupid and improbable, it would somehow work.

Taking the pencil from Katara, Zuko flipped over the paper and began to write.

_"I lifted what turned out to be structural designs of the prison. I'm going to look over them tonight and send a messenger hawk to my uncle. I want to find out who these Truth-Seers are. If they've been around here for as long as the boy has, then the might know who the leader of the Fifth Column is."_

Katara nodded and picked up waterskin, uncorking the top and taking a long drink before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Zuko watched her, taking in her entire appearance, and he frowned. She was so thin and fragile-looking, but those eyes of hers—those vibrant morning-blue eyes—were alert and strong. He knew that when it was time for them to escape, she'd be ready. But would he?

_"Today I was lucky when I was summoned because I wasn't in here long enough to do any physical damage to you, but if they question me again after this—and I'm sure they will—then I'll have to—"_

She reached out and clasped his slightly trembling hand, staying it, before taking the pencil and writing two characters in bold:

_"**Torture me.**"_

Zuko looked up, his eyes wild. He grabbed Katara by the shoulders and roughly picked her up from the chair and pushed her towards the back of the room. When he had her up against the wall, he put his lips to her ear.

"Do you know what you're asking me to do? I can't torture you." His voice was laced with anger. He had risked so much to find her and save her. She couldn't possibly think that he would turn around and hurt her.

"Just cut me, slap me—any sort of superficial wound." Katara's eyes danced in the torchlight. "I can bloodbend bruises to the surface and even swell the skin to make it look like you've beaten me badly." She reached up and touched his mask, and his hold on her shoulders slackened. "If they search your mind, you can show them how you cut me and hit me. There's no lie in it."

Zuko abruptly let go and stood back, appraising her fragile form. "Are you prepared for that—to bloodbend?"

"I am." There was a defiant glint in her eyes and her mouth hardened into a thin line. "I've been practising on the rats in my cell and in the cage. And when we leave on the full moon like you said, I can help us escape. I just need to get my strength back."

She offered him a rueful smile and he reluctantly returned it—although there was no way she could see it underneath the mask. Even now, so many years after the war, Zuko found him once again overwhelmed by her courage and determination. He only hoped that they could escape with their lives so that she could continue to amaze him in the future.

"I want you to practise on me," he said, taking a step back so that she could move forward.

"What?"

"Bloodbending." He waved at himself. "I want you to practise on me."

"Zuko—Zuko, I can't."

"Yes, you can. You need to practise on a living person, not rodents." He crouched low in a defensive position and shrugged. "Besides, it's the only bending that we—and by we, I mean _you_—can safely practise in here without being caught."

She regarded him critically for a moment, weighing the moral options. Zuko knew that deep down Katara would always choose non-violence whenever possible. But unlike Aang, Katara would sacrifice her principles and even her morals if she believed the cause benefited all instead of just one.

"Do you need the moon to be out?" he asked, and she just shook her head.

Then, without warning, Katara shifted stances and raised her hands. Two fingers, index and middle, were poised and pointed. Her movements were simple and fluid; there was almost nothing to it.

He could feel her power, though; her chi was flowing from her fingertips and spreading out towards him. And suddenly she was inside him with invisible fingers travelling through his bloodstream. It was almost like how the twins had invaded his mind, but this wasn't painful or humiliating. In fact, it was dizzying, almost euphoric at first. After that came the weightlessness and numbness, and then she was pulling him forward.

His body was no longer his own as he began to rigidly walked towards her. When he was within a hairsbreadth of her face, she finally gave him the freedom of movement but it was short-lived. He tried to raise his hands only to have her swiftly bring him down to his knees. His blood had become heavy, almost leaden as it weighed him down. The more he resisted the more pain he felt, until she lifted him up in the air and threw him across the room.

Landing in a crumbled heap, Zuko could do nothing but lay there and wait until Katara released him from her hold. She lowered her hands, panting slightly, and wiped at her brow. She was clearly exhausted. It had taken everything she had in her. Beaten and starved for weeks, she had still managed to fight with everything she had. Once she got her strength back Zuko knew she'd be unstoppable. She just needed more practice and he could provide her with that.

Outside there was a quiet sound, a shift in tone, that prickled at Zuko's ears. He jumped to his feet and turned towards the door. Concentrating, he could hear the guards talking loudly in the room near the stairs, accompanied by a third, familiar voice.

"Someone's here!"

Picking the piece of parchment off the table, Zuko burnt it in his palm and turned it to ash. He then tucked the pencil into his belt while Katara sat back down on the chair and brought her hands behind her back. While he retied her bonds, he listened for footsteps and voices outside the door.

"Kick me," he whispered in her ear, tying the final knot.

"What?"

"When I go see the twins, I need them to know that you're not broken yet. If they think you are, they'll take you away from me." His eyes were pleading. "I need more time."

Zuko looked back at the door and Katara stood up, squaring her shoulders. She was giving him a 'are you sure?' look, and he nodded with a wink.

"Make it a good show."

She lunged forward with a force Zuko wasn't expecting, hitting him directly in the solar plexus. He doubled over for only a second before coming up and returning her blow with a slap to the face. Her head snapped back; her eyes were wild and bulging. Blood dripped down her lip, which was already swelling, and she snarled before striking out again.

Zuko smiled despite the pain. She had hit hard, and not just for a girl. Katara's fighting spirit had always been something he admired and respected about her. She never gave up, just like him.

"I am going to _end_ you!" she spat, putting on the show he had asked for, and Zuko's grin widened underneath the mask. It felt like old times.

There were loud footsteps carrying outside and the door and suddenly the cell door swiftly opened. In stepped Kenzo and two guards; both were carrying a tub of water behind him.

"It's your lucky day, waterbender," said Kenzo, warily eyeing Katara first and then the assassin. "You get a bath."

The guards brought the small tub into the room and placed it in the middle of the floor. The warden walked past Zuko towards Katara. Her hands were still bound behind her back and she backed up against the wall. With blood still streaming down her face, her blue eyes narrowed on Kenzo and her face contorted in rage and disgust.

"Touch me and I will _kill_ you!"

Kenzo stopped where he stood and grinned wolfishly. "Normally I'd love to, _filth_, but I'm not your interrogator." He glanced at Zuko and withdrew a small cloth from his sleeve before throwing it at him. "You'll be bathing the water whore."

Zuko kept his countenance passive and his eyes blank, but inside his mind was spinning. Kenzo wanted him to _bathe_ Katara? What the hell for? Was he trying to break her with humiliation and submission? If so, the one thing he hadn't counted on was that her interrogator was one of her best friends and ally.

Wordlessly, Zuko dropped the cloth in the tub and carefully removed his gloves. Placing them on the table, he watched Katara back up and try to hide in the corner of the room. Her eyes were wide and had caged look to them, though she wasn't looking at him—she was staring directly at Kenzo. Zuko observed the warden out of the corner of his eye, watching as he took a step towards Katara.

Swiftly intervening, Zuko picked up the tub and stepped in front of Katara, effectively blocking the guards' and the warden's line of sight. Katara glanced up at Zuko, her terrified blue eyes searching his. He tried to convey his honourable intentions with a simple look and covertly touched her arm, giving it the briefest squeeze, before reaching down to lift her tunic. He yanked it over her head and pulled it back until it hooked between her bound wrists, where it hung there like a limp sail.

Katara was too shocked to react with words. With her hands bound behind her back, she couldn't even shield her body from the onlookers. Zuko felt his stomach churn, knowing that Kenzo and his guards were watching, leering, deriving sick satisfaction from seeing the female prisoner humiliated and defiled.

But Zuko had to do what he was told and not be gentle about it or else his motives would've been called into question and his true identity given away. He had to find a way to get Kenzo and the guards to leave. But how?

When he dipped his hand into the tub to retrieve the cloth, Katara began making whimpering noises. Visibly shaking, she backed up flush against the wall and turned to her side so she could hunch over and try to hide herself. He wanted to tell her that it'd be okay, that he'd never hurt her, that he had to do this. But it _wasn't_ okay and none of this was right. How could she possibly forgive him?

Starting from the bottom up, Zuko knelt down and brought the cloth to her ankles, scrubbing at her soft skin in rough circular motions. Then his hands travelled up her long, toned calves, kneading at the skin to remove the dried, caked on dirt. Each time he brought the cloth back to the tub, the water became dirtier; and every time he brought his hand back up to her flesh, his fingers travelled higher and higher until they were at the apex of her thighs.

He pushed outwards with the cloth, glossing over her hips and backside, refusing to let his hands linger longer than they had a right to. He could feel her quivering beneath his touch, his breath warm on her stomach. When he lifted his chin to look up, for the first time their eyes met. Morning-blue eyes met his, wide and full. If she were to blink, the tears welling in her eyes would surely fall.

Zuko swallowed hard, the cloth trembling in his hand. He brought it to the warm spot between her thighs and Katara's bottom lip began to wobble. She turned her face towards the wall, unable to look at him any longer. Disgusted with himself, Zuko dipped the cloth back in the water and brought it up to her hips, following the hollow curve of her stomach until he reached her chest.

Squeezing the water from the cloth, Zuko found himself morbidly mesmerised by how the water dripped down onto her breasts, creating stray paths of moisture that ran between her décolletage. He gritted his teeth and tried to turn his eyes away, to just be mechanical and perfunctory about the entire process, but he couldn't. Because all he could feel were the staves of her muscles rising and shifting beneath his fingertips as they made contact with her flesh; all he could see was the slight tremble and rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.

"Looks like the little water whore is enjoying it," Kenzo said with a leer, and Katara's face instantly darkened.

"Fuck you!"

"Is that an invitation?"

Zuko abdomen tightened at Kenzo's words, and a dark, bloody rage boiled in his veins. Katara tensed under his hands and he watched in amazement as she drew all the saliva in her mouth and boldly spat at the warden, hitting him square on the bridleway of his nose. She was a waterbender, after all, so she didn't miss.

Kenzo wiped the spittle off his face with a growl and took a threatening step forward. But Zuko already had his hand drawn back and slapped Katara hard across the face. It was a wet, stinging sound, and Katara reeled back in shock, her head connecting with the wall behind her. Zuko's fingers then went to her throat, circling the tan flesh. She struggled for a moment until his grip tightened. With no means for her to reach up and claw at his hands, she went slack in his grasp—defeated. Once she tapped out, Zuko instantly released her throat and pinned her back up against the wall.

With no need to discipline her himself, Kenzo made a disgruntled noise and stepped back. Zuko's quick act had done the trick—fooling the warden into thinking that the assassin was in charge and willing to discipline the prisoner by any means necessary. With that small measure of trust gained, no matter how tenuous, there was a chance that Kenzo would leave Zuko alone with Katara—no longer having her nude body exposed to the guards.

"Properly dry her off when you're done," Kenzo instructed sharply, taking out a handkerchief to wipe his face. "We don't want her bending at any of the guards when they take her back to her cell."

Removing a small phial from his belt, Kenzo threw it at Zuko, who caught it with his free hand. It was a bottle of soap. The warden then nodded to the guards, who opened the door and followed him outside, locking the door behind them. Zuko waited and listened for the echo of their footfalls to fade away. Once he was sure they were gone, he immediately undid Katara's bonds and lowered her onto the chair.

With her hands free, she weakly reached up to touch his mask and withdrew her fingers as if she had been burned. "Please take that off."

Zuko complied and slipped off his mask and hood, setting them on the table. Kneeling, he turned back towards her. They were face-to-face now, exposed, and he felt slightly uncomfortable with her eyes meeting his so candidly.

"I'm sorry." He brought the cloth up to her cheek. It was red and blotchy with an ugly bruise already forming. He gently dabbed at it and she winced painfully before he moved down to her lip, cleaning off the blood before cupping her cheek with his bare hand. "I am _so_ sorry, Katara."

"Don't be." She offered him a watery smile before leaning into his touch. "You did what you had to do to get him and the others to leave." She gently placed a hand on top of his. "I understand that it was all a show."

Zuko swallowed the hard lump forming in his throat and nodded. She had forgiven him but he would never forgive himself.

Bringing the tub over to the chair, he asked her if she wanted to heal herself. She just shook her head and bent the water, separating the dirt and dumping it onto the floor. She then asked him if he could heat the water and he complied. A warm steam began to fill the room and she slowly exhaled as the heat increased.

She brought wet fingertips up to pat at her hair, slicking back the fly-away tendrils. "Can you wash my hair?" She leaned back in the chair. "Just pour the water over me. Don't worry about wasting it. I can always bend it back into the tub."

Katara lazily opened her eyes and offered him a grin. He suddenly felt the urge to lean down and kiss her. It was an odd reaction for him to have; he had just finished beating her and washing her naked body with a roomful of guards watching. But maybe it was his protective nature taking over. He just wanted to fold her into his arms and hold her close and tell her that he was sorry—that everything he did was to keep her safe.

Fighting that strange and persistent impulse, Zuko lifted the tub and stood behind her, slowly pouring the warm water in her hair. He took the phial of soap out from his belt and dabbed the liquid onto her scalp, massaging and cleaning away the dirt and oil. Katara closed her eyes as Zuko methodically kneaded her scalp, working the lather into her hair and focussing around her ears. He watched as his hands moved through her slicked dark strands, the soap oozing up from between his fingers, white and thick.

She moaned softly at his ministrations and his fingers stilled for an instant. From his position above her, he could see the soapy water trail down her neck and shoulders, streaming down her collarbone and onto her breasts. Her entire body was slick and sheen, and try as he might to look away, he simply couldn't. He was hypnotised by her breathing and the swell of her breasts and—

Katara moaned again beneath him and he almost jumped. She wet her lips with her tongue, her eyes closed, content with having her hair washed. She murmured her thanks, telling him how much she needed this bath, and he relaxed again. No longer did she seem conscious of her nudity or the fact that he was washing her. Perhaps she had better coping mechanisms than he had thought—better than his at least.

Frustrated with his own physical response to Katara's body, Zuko sighed and gritted his teeth. He shifted and brought a hand up to rub at his face, leaving wet trails down his cheeks. He had forgot about the soap, though, which now stung his bad eye, and he let out a soft hiss of irritation. Katara glanced up at him, a shy smile on her face, and went about bending the soapy water out of his eye.

He lowered his hand back down to her hair and began massaging again, offering her a small smile. "Thank you."

She nodded and leaned back, closing her eyes.

The rest of the bath continued in an awkward but somehow comfortable silence, with Zuko painstakingly removing every inch of dirt off Katara's body until the guards came back to relieve him and take her away.

* * *

**Author's notes:** I'd like to point out that the blurb about Katara willing to sacrifice her morals for the 'greater good' is what _Zuko_ believes. I neither agree nor disagree with _his_ assessment. Let me just say this:_ 'opinions expressed in this story do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the author'_. Is my arse properly covered? Yes'uh!


	5. Old Friends

REMNANTS FROM THE early-morning rain were still dripping from the leaves of the peach trees. A purple finch hopped along a limb where fruit was forming that would not be harvested this year.

The sun was well up in the sky, hidden behind thick grey clouds, and seated cross-legged on the damp ground was Sokka. He was testing his bowstring; the tightly wrapped waxed cords had a tendency to go slack in wet weather. Laying the bow across his lap, he sat still and waited, listening for any sound.

It was his job to stay near camp and pore over the maps, to find the best routes north-west while the others went into the village to buy supplies. Their camp was situated in a large thicket that Sokka fancied a vast faraway wilderness; however, it was little more than a rough patch amongst the undergrowth with three tents scattered around a smoking fire.

As usual, Sokka hadn't set the tarp over his tent the night before. When it had started to rain the following morning, reading had become a rather fruitless endeavour. He had to laugh at the irony of the situation, imagining if Katara were there she would have commented with a resounding 'I told you so'.

After managing to salvage the maps, Sokka decided he would go hunting to clear his head. The rain would flush out the wildlife and maybe they could have a meal that didn't consist of rice and tea for once. He had taken his bow, a gift from the Zhang tribe several years ago, and was about to head off when he began mentally calculating the geography of their camp. Deciding that he didn't want to get lost, Sokka sat down in the grass and waited. He tried to remember the hunting trails they had passed along the way before setting up camp but, inevitably, his mind began to wander.

A faint rustling sound brought him back to reality and he jumped to his feet. Lifting the bow, he retrieved an arrow from the quiver and drew it taut against the string. He was about to fire into the bush when a rock column suddenly shot up in front of him, sending him stumbling backwards. The bow flew out of his hands and he immediately unsheathed his boomerang, lifting it threateningly as his light blue eyes scanned the dense forest.

"Toph?"

As if in answer, there was an even louder rustle and the column of stone sunk back into the ground. A moment later, a petite and barefoot brunette with sightless green eyes stepped out of the forest. She was dusting off her hands, and a devilish smirk played on her lips before she bent down to retrieve a large basket of food.

"Well, I'm certainly not Foo Foo Cuddly Poops."

Sokka grinned and lowered his boomerang, slipping it in the holster on his back. Picking up his bow and quiver of arrows, he slung them over his shoulder and trotted over to where the blind girl stood. Without waiting for Toph to ask, because she never would, Sokka helped her with the items she had carried in from town.

"Where's General Iroh?" He took the basket of fruit from her hands and she rolled her eyes heavenwards.

"Pops is haggling with a merchant over tea." She quickly made two benches and a table for them to set the food on. "Luckily no one in the village was keen on Pai Sho or we'd be here forever."

"We can't stay here long." Sokka placed his weapons on the table and picked up a peach to munch on. "The longer we're together in one area—"

"The easier Fifth Column spies will spot us," Toph finished, exasperated. "I know the drill, Sokka."

The three of them had been travelling by wagon like merchants for the past two weeks, making their way across the entire south-western half of the Earth Kingdom. They had no choice in their means of transport, as making their way by air or sea would have alerted the Fifth Column to their presence. The supporters of Ozai had spies everywhere, including the Earth Kingdom, so they had to be careful.

Toph had suggested they search the area where Katara was abducted from, near the Western Air Temple, but Iroh and Sokka had been adamant against such a course of action. Both knew that not only was there a chance that the Fifth Column would be there waiting for them, but that the likelihood of Katara being held prisoner so close to the Fire Nation was highly improbable. Plus, due to recent flare of civil war hostilities, it wasn't in their best interest to travel the tumultuous terrain alone.

"You know, it's really odd seeing you with a bow and arrow." Toph picked up a peach and bit into it, before reaching over with her free hand and tracing her fingers over the intricately carved woodwork.

"_Seeing_?" Sokka repeated, raising an eyebrow in incredulity, and Toph waved a hand in front of her sightless eyes.

"It's a figure of speech." She took another bite and motioned to the bow. "So, have you caught anything with it?"

"Not yet. I was sitting here listening for game when you came back."

In truth, Sokka had been thinking about his wife and children. He had left Suki in charge of the relocation programme at Kyoshi Island and sent their daughters, Kya and Kanna, to stay with his father at the South Pole. When he had received word from Iroh that Katara had been abducted at the Western Air Temple, Sokka's first thought was that Aang had been killed. How else would Katara have been so easily taken?

After finding out that the Fifth Column was holding his sister ransom for the surrender of the Avatar and the abdication of Fire Lord Zuko, Sokka had really started to worry. He knew that Zuko had gone undercover almost two years ago, but he had no idea where Aang had gone and why he had left Katara behind.

Once the news got out, Iroh had immediately summoned Sokka to his tea shop in Ba Sing Se, insisting that he travel alone and incognito. There Sokka had met up with the general and Toph, who had become part of General Iroh's personal retinue since the two had begun demilitarising the Fire Nation more than a decade ago. On top of that, Toph had set up her own metalbending school for earthbenders a little more than five years ago.

At the private meeting, Sokka had asked questions and listened. He knew very little about the Fifth Column, other than what Zuko told him, and Toph seemed to know even less. Although she was a consultant to the Fire Lord, she served directly under Iroh. And for reasons only known to Zuko, Toph was not told about Zuko's infiltration into the Fifth Column or even what the Fifth Column was. No one seemed to know; not even your average Fire Nation citizen.

After briefing them on the basics, General Iroh went about filling them in on what little he knew about the secret organisation. It was believed that the Fifth Column had been created around the time of Azulon's death and the crowning of Ozai. However, Ozai was not the founder of the organisation, merely a figurehead. Most of the Fifth Column traditions dated back to before Sozin's reign; thus, they did not necessarily support Ozai but opposed his son, believing the Fire Nation to be the superior nation and the superior race. And now these madmen had his sister.

"Katara knows how to take care of herself," Toph said, stirring Sokka from his reverie. It was almost as if she had read his mind.

Toph was idling playing with the piece of meteorite he had given her almost fourteen years ago, turning it into numerous shapes before making a bracelet with it and slapping it against her arm. He observed her with keen blue eyes, noting the subtle changes in her appearance since they had last met a few years ago.

Age, apparently, had finally caught up with Toph, and it suited her. She was still petite and fragile-looking, but her dark hair was longer now, sleeker, held back in that familiar hairdo of hers so that the length of the ends only just barely swept past her shoulders. Still wearing trousers and a tunic of earthly colours and with no shoes on her feet, Toph might have grown into a woman but she hadn't really changed much. It was comforting somehow.

"We'll find her." She gave him a determined nod, her sightless green eyes focussed westwards. "She'll be back to bossing us around in no time."

Sokka chortled softly at this and placed his hand on his friend's shoulder, squeezing it gently. "Thanks, Toph. I needed to hear that."

The earthbender blushed at his thanks and shrugged his hand off so she could extend her elbow and punch him hard in the arm. Wincing slightly, Sokka rubbed at the tender flesh, feeling a bruise already forming. Toph always knew where to hit and how to properly tenderise. For all the things that didn't change Sokka wished that Toph's gesture of affection had. Her strength only seemed to intensify with age. She was like the female version of Bumi (except less crazy).

"You know," Toph began, taking another bite out of the peach, "I never thought I'd say this, but I wish we were flying. Where's Appa when you need him?"

Sokka wondered the same thing and grimaced. He curled his hands into fists as his thoughts wandered to darker places.

"I wish I knew where Aang was." He slammed his fist down on the rock table, immediately regretting his actions with a hiss. "How could he have left my sister alone, defenceless like that?"

He cradled his hand against his chest, forgetting about his bruised arm entirely. He'd be lucky if he didn't break any of his knuckles.

"Sokka—" Toph put a comforting hand on his shoulder "—it's not Aang's fault."

"I know, but—"

"But you've gotta blame someone, right?"

"Yeah."

An uncomfortable silence hung between them, and Toph suddenly grinned. Breaking through the tension, she lightly shoved Sokka, causing him to almost topple off the bench. He quickly steadied his hands on the stone surface, happy to discover that he hadn't broken his knuckles—just scraped them.

"Let's blame the Fifth Column, then," Toph said, throwing the peach pit over her shoulder. "When we find those losers—" she curled a hand into a fist and punched the surface of her palm "—we'll whoop their butts but good."

Sokka's smile faltered. That was all well and good, as he intended to do a little ass-kicking himself and allow Toph to partake in the fun, but _finding_ Katara was another matter entirely. Sokka had questioned Iroh about what prisons the Fifth Column could be keeping her at since the only other prison he knew of, besides Boiling Rock, was the one where Azula had kept Mai and Ty Lee. But that place had been located close to the royal palace and was summarily dismantled after the great war, as were most of the Fire Nation prisons.

Iroh had then told them that his father, Azulon, had once sent waterbenders to a special prison but that the location was kept secret, even from his sons. Sokka had immediately thought of Hama, wondering if Katara could have been sent to the same prison that crazy old bloodbender had escaped from. But when Iroh had sent word to the White Lotus to locate Hama's whereabouts, they had informed him that she had died several years after the great war ended. All hope in finding the location of the prison and Katara was seemingly lost.

Sokka didn't know what to do anymore. They could spend years scouring the Earth Kingdom alone, but they didn't have the luxury of time. Sokka didn't want to admit it, but he didn't even know if it was already too late. They had met too many dead ends. Where could they go next?

Suddenly, a loud noise sounded from behind and both friends turned. Sokka's hand was behind his back, touching the metal of his boomerang while Toph's feet were already planted firmly on the ground as she shifted into position.

Without any hefting to give warning, Toph lifted a chunk of rock from the ground and hurled it in the direction of the noise. The rustle of dead leaves was the only sound at first, but then the bushes began to shake more than they should have. An alarming exclamation rose from the bushes, as though a man had been struck in a tender place, and Toph lowered her guard before rolling her eyes in exasperation.

"Pops, what on earth are you doing trying to sneak up on us?"

"I assure you that I wasn't t-trying to sneak up on ei-either of you," the elderly general stuttered as he stumbled out of the forest, rubbing the tender area just below his back. "I was simply using the outdoor plumbing, as it were."

Sokka snorted, and even Toph couldn't hide the grin on her face. Iroh had obviously had one too many cups of rice wine. While Sokka might not have approved, since they were currently on a mission to locate his sister, they had been travelling non-stop for more than two weeks. A short break was permissible, and Sokka could still drive the wagon with Iroh incapacitated.

"I have excellent news," Iroh announced as he reached the table. He cleared his throat and brought his hands together under his sleeves, as if waiting for their guesses. They did not disappoint.

"You found Katara?"

"You haggled the tea merchant down to your asking price?"

Both Iroh and Sokka turned to look at Toph, who shrugged indifferently.

"Yes—well, yes about the tea but no to finding Master Katara." Iroh turned to Sokka before bowing happily. "But I might have new almost as good."

Sokka's face instantly lit up with hope, smoothing his now rough and rugged features and making him look fifteen all over again.

"Don't leave us hanging, Pops." Toph tapped her foot impatiently. "Spill it."

"I believe I have found someone who can help us find Master Katara."

Iroh positively beamed while Sokka and Toph exchanged dubious glances. Toph's sightless green eyes narrowed with confusion before they turned back to regard the general with puzzled eagerness.

"Who?" they asked in unison, and Iroh's grin widened.

"June."

**.**

**.**

**.**

OVERGROWN PASTURES AND wild olive groves covered most of the land near Phanom Rung, but many small forests stretched a few kilometres across as well, creeping towards the looming volcanoes in the distance. While the ground was much flatter here than it was to the south, it rolled and sometimes rose in a prominence of twenty metres or more, sufficient to cast deep shadows in the afternoon sun.

All in all, the country provided more than enough cover to keep unwanted eyes from what might have passed as some odd merchant's pack of komodo rhinos. Although Sokka did not sight a single mark of human habitation beyond a few wild animals cropping on the hills. Everything seemed wild and abandoned.

Plants and trees used to the heat of the Fire Nation were beginning to wither and die, but still there was a beauty to the land, a mystery. At any other time Sokka might have enjoyed sightseeing the countryside, to explore its unknown villages and ruins. But now was not the time; he was looking for his sister.

"How far till we get to Fana—to your retreat?" Toph asked, who was stuck moping in the back of the wagon.

"We're almost there," Iroh assured her with a smile. "Twenty minutes at the most."

The hills around them were strange, knobby shapes, as though squeezed together by huge, careless hands. Flocks of brilliantly hued birds soared up at their passing, and a dozen sorts of hummingbirds hovered near the komodo rhinos like jewels on blurred wings. Sokka had tried describing one to Toph but she had become easily bored, dismissing him with a wave of her hand before taking a nap.

As they traversed deeper into the thicket, the heat increased tenfold. Sokka looked around in wonder at the thick vines that hung like ropes in some places. He had travelled most of the world at only fifteen, but he had never been this far north in the Fire Nation.

There were trees here that were almost impossible to describe, with bundles of narrow fronds at the top for foliage and things that looked like green feather dusters as tall as a man. A handful of plants fooled by the heat struggled to put out blossoms, bright reds and vivid yellows, some twice as large as his two hands put together. Their perfume was lush, almost sultry, and he could smell them mixing with the salty tang of the ocean air nearby.

They had taken their wagon on a small, unmarked charter ship and sailed it around the western edge of the Fire Nation until they reached the northern shore. It had taken them nearly two days to make their way inland, heading east. Along the way they saw grass-mounds and ruins, but no settlements, no mark of human inhabitation whatsoever. But Sokka did spot signs of a great civilisation that had once existed here, long ago.

As the wagon lurched forward, he spied some boulders he would have wagered had once been toes on a statue, though why anyone would make a statue that large with bare feet he couldn't imagine.

"What kind of statue was that?" He pointed at the mossy stone ruin and Iroh turned, the reins held tightly in his hands, following Sokka's finger before giving the young man a measuring look.

"I cannot say for certain what that statue once was, but I can hazard a guess that it was most likely that of the Sun God, Agni." He let his aged eyes sweep over the massive, sweltering landscape. "These lands used to be part of the Western Sun Warrior Kingdom many years ago."

Toph leaned forward, her elbows resting on the back of the bench. "Is this were Zuko took Aang to meet the dragons?"

Iroh nodded and hooked his thumb back, pointing north towards the sea. "We're not far from there. The actual civilisation is on an island just north-west of here." He breathed deeply before adjusting his hat. "But all this land was once theirs."

"Why'd they move?"

"Too many firebenders looking to be Dragon Warriors," Sokka said darkly, and Iroh nodded, making a humming noise at the back of his throat.

"Yes, they retreated to the island to avoid detection and persecution, to protect the last of the dragons." Iroh looked off in the distance with one of those nostalgic expressions fanning across his features. "One of the last great civilisations of the world forced into hiding because man is too greedy and too ignorant to understand that the laws of nature apply to him as well."

Steering the komodo rhinos towards a barely perceptible path, Iroh led them through a forest of thick fluted stone amongst the trees. The weathered stumps of columns, many toppled and all long since mined to the ground by local farmers long-since gone or maybe by the Sun Warriors themselves, had become relics of a long-forgotten past.

"How can you be sure that the Fifth Column aren't out here?" Toph asked, trying to listen for any sounds carrying on the wind. She hated not having her feet firmly planted on the ground.

"I can't." Iroh's mouth was a thin line. "But it is unlikely that the Fifth Column would be here in the Fire Nation, especially this far north."

"Why not?"

Iroh wiped the back of his hand along his dampened forehead. "They are an underground organisation, and since Lord Zuko took control of the Fire Nation my brother's de facto society couldn't very well set up operations in the capital anymore or the surrounding areas, especially since _you_ had gone over the lay of the land."

Several years after the great war Zuko had come to Toph to ask her to not only locate all the underground passages around the palace but the entire Fire Nation. They had found several abandoned bunkers, most dating back to Ozai's time, but there were a few decidedly older. After dismantling them, Toph had constructed for Zuko his own private bunker—a place to redirect his cabinet in case of emergency or attack. The world was still licking its collective wounds more than a decade after the war, and in no place more prevalent was this done than in the Earth Kingdom. One could arguably say that they had suffered the most and would eventually seek retribution.

Aang had tried to keep a reasonable peace, quelling the inevitable riots that erupted in Ba Sing Se when the people discovered they could no longer remain a segregated city. Personally meeting with each tribe leader, of which there were many, the Avatar had slowly begun to restore faith and peace once more settled into the collective limbs of the world.

The Fire Nation, though, was still ripe with lingering animosity towards Zuko for usurping his father's throne. A full-scale civil war was a constant, mounting threat. The rupture was slowly healing; that was until two years ago, when whispers of the Fifth Column seizing control began spreading beyond the borders of the Fire Nation. The state of the world was looking grim again, ripe with insurrection and possibly war.

"So you think they're hiding somewhere else?" Toph fanned her face with her hand, panting. "Like in the Earth Kingdom?"

"Or at least not far from." Iroh steered the rhinos down yet another narrow path filled with a dense thicket of trees. "I'd say they're situated far east or maybe to the south."

"Then why'd we leave?"

"Because that's _a lot_ of land to cover," Sokka said, becoming irritable in the heat. "And we've only so much time to find Katara."

"And you both think we'll find her here in Fa—whatever?"

"No, but we'll find June." Iroh smiled. "And she can help us find Master Katara."

June was a bounty hunter with a rare shirshu called Nyla. It was a creature gifted with enhanced olfactory receptors. The same beast had been used by Zuko to track down Katara in the past, as well as Iroh himself. Fortunately for them, shirshus lived long lives, almost as long as humans if treated well. Unfortunately, finding Nyla's owner, June, would prove to be much more difficult.

With the great war over, war criminals on the loose and civil war mounting, the mercenary industry had boomed. It didn't help that June had made several enemies over the years and never stayed in one place for very long. But thanks to the work she had done for Zuko and the Fire Nation by tracking down those war criminals, she had strong ties with the Fire Lord and his uncle. Even if she didn't necessarily want those ties.

"And we're gonna find her at your retreat?" Toph raised a dark eyebrow in suspicion. "Why?"

"Oh, you know." Iroh laughed nervously, rubbing at the back of his neck. "She's our most valued bounty hunter, so we like to keep her happy. Sometimes she needs a place to lie low, and Phanom Rung is an excellent place to hide."

Toph frowned. Since they were moving, she couldn't properly tell if Iroh was lying or not, but she gave him a look that told him she sensed something was up. Her hearing was as sensitive as Zuko's, if not more so, and she could detect poppycock when she heard it.

Ignoring their conversation about June, Sokka leaned back in his seat and rested his feet against the wooden bridle. "What worries me are our enemies hiding in plain sight."

"Those are the most dangerous kind," Iroh hummed in agreement.

Both knew that the cleverest foes were those who hid in plain sight, presenting themselves as allies or men of authority, like Long Feng and the Dai Li. Fifth Columnists could be anywhere, in any seat of power, disguised as friend or ally. It was one of the reasons why Zuko had left Iroh in charge to oversee all political matters, as well as keep an eye out for insurgents. He trusted his uncle more than he trusted himself, and with good reason; Iroh was an excellent judge of character and as shrewd as he was cunning.

"Still," the general continued with an upwards lilt, "I do believe that this area is safe." He gestured vaguely to the overgrown ruins of Phanom Rung. "Only you children and myself know about the existence of dragons or the fact that the Sun Warrior civilisation still exists."

Toph leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest, huffing something about how she was twenty-six and no longer a child. Iroh ignored her mutterings and continued smiling that boyish grin of his until he pulled back on the reins and directed the rhinos to a fairly large pond shaded by a half-circle of trees.

Looking up, Sokka wondered why they had stopped. He only saw the faceless wall of a misshapen stone cliff and several towering trees steepling its surface. The cliff itself was high and imposing, surrounded by a dense forest, but completely deserted. A small, serpent-shaped river ran criss-cross around its archway, pouring into a deep, hollow basin off to their left.

This couldn't have been the place, could it have?

"Welcome to Phanom Rung," Iroh said with a flourish, and Sokka could only dumbly blink ahead.

Iroh then climbed down from the wagon and went about unhitching the bridle, letting the rhinos loose to slake their thirst at the waterhole and feast upon the apples that had fallen from the trees surrounding the well-disguised retreat. The place looked nothing more than another large rock in the architectural landscape.

"_This_ is Phanom Rung?" Sokka didn't bother to mask his disappointment. He had expected a palace—well, maybe not a palace but a large manor or maybe even a temple. This was just some dilapidated structure carved into the side of a cliff.

"Never judge a book by its cover," Iroh said wisely, grabbing his satchel off the bench while Toph jumped out of the back of the wagon.

"Yeah," she chimed in, pointing at herself. "Look at me, for instance. When I was young people thought I was fragile and delicate, but I was and am the most powerful earthbender and metalbender in the world."

"Modest too," Iroh added with a wink, and Toph nodded in agreement.

Shaking his head, Sokka grabbed his own satchel and slung it over his shoulder before jumping off the wagon. He looked up at the face of the cliff and frowned.

"Where's the door?" Iroh pointed upwards at an opening almost twenty feet above them and Sokka's mouth dropped open. "You've got to be kidding me!"

"Getting out is easier than getting in," the general said with a chuckle, before lightly tapping Toph's shoulder. "Normally I'd climb this, but it's been a long time and since we have the most powerful earthbender at our disposal—"

"Yeah-yeah, Pops." Toph waved her hand dismissively. "Just tell me where and how high."

After a brief description from Iroh, Toph went to work, making them their own personal staircase. They ascended the stairs with ease until they reached the entrance to Phanom Rung, which was little more than a circular door with the same colour and texture of the surrounding rock; however, it was slightly less solid and, upon closer inspection, had hinges.

Pushing back his sleeves, Iroh reached his hands inside a hole next to the door and pulled a rope, which, in turn, created chiming noises from within the rock structure. Withdrawing his hands, Iroh slipped them back inside his sleeves and waited patiently. Less than five seconds passed before the hinges began to squeak and the large door grated against the stone.

The door opened slowly to reveal a raven-haired woman of slightly above average height with pale skin and dark, tilted eyes. Though lithe in form, there was a tremendous strength coiled within, curling behind those half-lidded eyes hers. They were eyes that spoke volumes more than mere words could. With her high sculpted cheekbones and full blood-red lips, June was an undeniably beautiful woman in a dangerous sort of way—enticing and deadly like the belladonna lily.

"June!" Iroh spread his arms wide in invitation. "My lovely Desert Rose."

The bounty hunter leaned against the doorframe and folded her arms beneath her breasts. No readable expression adorned her face. She silently regarded Iroh and his two companions for a brief moment before turning her intense, humourless eyes on the general.

"Iroh."

The two syllables were drawn out thickly, and when spoken they filled the air with an uneasy sort of silence. With no more words exchanged, June turned back down the foyer and signalled for them to follow. Once inside, Sokka's party noted how much cooler in temperature it was than outside. It was a veritable oasis compared to the desert they stepped in from.

The chamber they entered had the appearance of a palace sitting room—vaulted ceilings of worked rock, finely woven carpets on the white-tiled floor, elaborately carved panelling for the walls—though it was far from any palace. Indeed, it was far from anything and anywhere, and it was more elaborate on the inside than it was on the outside. It really was the perfect hideaway: camouflaged and hidden from onlookers' eyes, yet a beautiful and comfortable retreat.

As the three found chairs to sit upon, June moved around a lapis-inlaid table, amusing herself with the placement of ivory dominoes in a complex tower, each level larger than the one below.

"I thought your extended invitation was too good to be true, old man." Her voice was a teasing growl. When her grey eyes left the game to fall upon Iroh, they narrowed dangerously. "What do you want?"

"We need to find my sister," Sokka said, wasting no time as he spoke for the general.

June placed another domino and the tower collapsed with a clatter, spilling ivory tiles onto the floor. With a cluck of her tongue, she turned from the table and gave Sokka a vulpine grin, letting her eyes linger on him just long enough to make him squirm uncomfortably in his chair.

"Pretty Blue Eyes got lost?" She lifted a cup from the table and took a sip. Swallowing, she rolled her tongue along her full bottom lip, barring the tips of her incisors. "Do you have something of hers on you?"

Sokka immediately opened the flap to his satchel and pulled out a familiar blue necklace and handed it over. The bounty hunter smiled her vulpine grin and set down her drink, loudly whistling for Nyla. The shirshu bounded into the room, claws tearing into the rich carpets as its long tale twitched in the air, knocking several vases off the tables. Luckily the inside of Phanom Rung was spacious enough to house such an enormous creature, though it was still a dwarf in comparison to Appa.

The wolf-like creature nudged its mistress's hand, wishing to be petted or given food—probably both. June affectionately scratched Nyla behind the ear before reaching down into a sack lying on the floor and drawing out a juicy steak. Throwing it up at the shirshu, June stood back and let the creature finish its meal before motioning for the others to get up and join her.

With Nyla trailing, June lead them all out the back entrance: a mossy hill that over-looked the ocean to the north. Bringing the necklace to the shirshu's large snout, June commanded the beast to find the necklace's owner. After a dramatic display of sniffing the air and stalking the ground, the shirshu lay down and placed its paws over its snout in defeat.

"Sorry, Water Tribe." June glanced down at Nyla before putting a hand to her slender hip. "Can't help you."

Iroh let out a sigh of disappointment, utterly crestfallen, while Toph frowned and placed a hand on Sokka's shoulder. He angrily shrugged it off and took a step towards June, who was holding out Katara's necklace for him to take.

"What are you saying?" He snatched the necklace from her hand. "Your stupid pet can't find her? I thought this thing could find anyone, alive or dead—unless that someone had left our plane of existence. Are you saying that my sister has just vanished into thin air?"

June turned her dark grey eyes on Sokka. "No, I'm saying that I can't help you find her. Your sister's too far away." She pointed out at the vast ocean behind them. "And wherever she is, she's underground."

"Underground?"

"I'm not surprised, really." The bounty hunter shrugged, folding her arms beneath her breasts. "This isn't the first time something like this has happened."

"You were recently tracking someone who had gone underground?" Iroh asked, taking a tentative step forward, and June nodded.

"Yeah. Your nephew, in fact."

When Iroh's eyes widened in surprise, the bounty hunter dropped her arms and flicked her wrist, indicating that they follow her back inside. June walked back over to the lapis-inlaid table and picked up a scroll, handing it over to the general.

"You have mail."

Iroh glanced down, immediately recognising the blue eagle seal, the secret royal insignia of Fire Lord Zuko—his nephew.

"A messenger hawk delivered this letter the day I arrived here, about three weeks ago." June nodded at the scroll. "I could only assume it was from your nephew."

"You didn't read it?" Sokka asked, noting that the letter was unopened, and June turned to face him.

"I may be a bounty hunter, but I live by a code."

"And what code would that be?"

"The 'I don't care about anybody else's business but my own' code."

Toph snorted behind them. "I _like_ her."

"I wanted to find out if it was another bounty hunter tracking me, trying to throw me off or lure me into a trap." June shrugged indifferently. "So a couple of days ago I tried to get Nyla to track it, but I got the same results as I did with your sister's necklace. Wherever your friends are, they're together."

Sokka looked down at Katara's necklace and nodded. "Good."

"_Good_?" Toph was giving him a bewildered look.

"Zuko won't let anything happen to Katara," Sokka said, pocketing the necklace. "He'll get her out of wherever she's being kept. And if not, he'll protect her."

Toph shook her head in disbelief before an amazed smile blossomed on her lips. "Sokka, I never thought you'd have so much faith in the Sunshine Prince. How can you be sure he didn't get caught before he found her?"

"Cause the one thing I know about Zuko is that he never gives up. If he was looking for Katara, he would've found her and he would _never_ leave without her."

Iroh stood beside Sokka and put his hand on the boy's shoulder, squeezing it firmly. "I believe you are right."

June watched the exchange with a dry, mirthless gaze before taking a seat and crossing her legs in a bored fashion. "Is that it?"

Sokka shook his head. "No, we need you to find Aang for us."

June picked up her cup of wine and took a sip. "Another wild goose chase, then?" She glanced over at Iroh, levelling on him an icy 'I mean business' glare. "You're still paying me for my time, old man."

Iroh merely nodded and Sokka pulled yet another necklace out of his pocket. This one, however, was not a Water Tribe betrothal necklace but the monk Gyatso's medallion—the one that Aang rarely took off his neck after the great war.

"Trust us," Sokka said, handing her the medallion. "He isn't underground."

June tipped back her cup and set it down on the table before standing to her feet. "Alright then. Gather what provisions you need." She pointed at Iroh. "You have a boat, right?" The general nodded. "Okay, let's go."

Sokka immediately gathered his things and followed the bounty hunter outside. Iroh, however, lingered back. Toph turned towards the general and began tugging on his sleeve.

"C'mon, Pops. Let's get a move on."

"I will be staying here, Master Beifong," Iroh said, before taking a seat. "If my nephew had enough sense to send me letters here before Master Katara's disappearance, then he will send me another one when he has found her."

Sokka, who overheard the exchange, stepped back inside. "General Iroh, with all due respect, it'll do us no good to have you staying behind, hoping that Zuko will send you a letter."

"And even if he does," Toph added, "how will that help us find Katara?"

Iroh bowed respectfully, slipping his hands inside his sleeves. "My nephew _will_ send his hawk again, and when he does we can follow it back to where the Fifth Column are keeping Master Katara."

Sokka suddenly grinned, feeling a small measure of hope return. "And that right there is why _you_ are the general."

"And a wily one to boot." Toph laughed.

"Find the Avatar," Iroh urged, his amber eyes fixed on his two companions. "Find him and bring him back here for all our sakes."

* * *

**Author's notes: **Yay for expository chapters, right? In all seriousness, I just wanted to properly introduce the rest of the GAang and give some background information on the Fifth Column, as well as the state of affairs in the Fire Nation (and the rest of the world, for that matter) fourteen years after Sozin's Comet. I can't pretend that there aren't other factors outside of the Zutara story, can I? (Can I? . . . No, no I can't.)

Since this story is formatted so that each chapter is from one PoV only, this is what you get. There will be a couple more chapters similar to this (as in they're not just from Zuko's or Katara's PoV) throughout the story, but I'm hopeful that you'll appreciate them as opposed to hate them. *fingers crossed*


	6. Coping Mechanisms

_"THIS WAY NO one else has to get hurt."_

His words echoed in her mind like a swan's song, afraid that they would be his last.

She stood with her mouth agape, watching his body twist in the air as he drew the lightning into his chest. It was then she realised that he would die for her—die for _her_—and all she could do was watch. But then her own legs were moving towards him before she could feel the tears rolling down her cheeks, hear her own voice cry out his name, see the smoke rising from his chest, taste the electricity in the air—

The scene shifted.

There was blood everywhere, rusted vermilion on her sleeves and pooled thickly about her knees. He was lying in her arms coughing, a wet phlegmatic sound, and she was trying her best not to cry. He was struggling to breathe, so she removed the mask from his face. Gleaming skull in hand, she glanced down to see her own fingers stained with blood, _his_ blood—tattooed with guilt.

"Katara."

He tried to lift his hand to touch her cheek, but it fell. Mocking laughter filled the air and she looked up to see Yin and Yang standing above her, malicious grins lingering on their lips. Their sightless eyes bore into hers and she shrank away, holding Zuko closer as though he alone could protect her.

"Your thoughts are known to us, Waterbender." Yang lifted a bloodied hand to his face and smeared Zuko's blood across his cheeks like tribal war paint, and Katara's stomach rolled in mutinous waves.

"_You_ killed Kage-san." Yin's grin widened and she let out a short laugh. "Or should I say, _Fire Lord Zuko_? You failed him, Water Tribe. You let him die to save yourself and your precious morals."

A strong hand clasped around her forearm and she looked down. Zuko was moving his lips, but no words were coming out. There was a gurgling noise at the back of his throat, and his blood seeped thick and red from his lips, staining his chin and neck. He was drowning in his own blood.

Suddenly his mouth clenched and his body stilled. He sunk back down onto her lap and golden eyes fluttered shut.

"No-no!" Katara panicked, seizing him by the shoulders. "Look at me, Zuko. Look at me!"

His eyes slowly opened, unfocussed, and she blinked back tears. She brought one hand up to his cheek to guide his gaze to hers while the other softly rested atop his chest.

"I need you to stay awake, Zuko. Okay? Just for a little while." Her voice trembled, and she offered him a watery smile. "You need to save me, remember?"

There was a tremor way down deep in her throat. Even though there was no way Zuko could have heard it, Katara knew it was there and she refused to let him see her scared. She refused to give face to her fears and let him down. It was her turn to save him.

"Katara?"

She turned towards the sound of a familiar voice. Her movements slow, as though wading through molasses. Blue eyes met grey and her world narrowed black.

"Aang?"

She could feel Zuko stir beneath her and she swallowed hard—a dry, audible click at the back of her throat. An insurmountable weight pressed down on her chest and she suddenly found it very difficult to breathe. She shouldn't have felt guilty—she hadn't done anything wrong—but she did. She was only comforting a friend, a friend who had risked everything for her. How was that wrong?

"How could you, Katara?" Aang's voice was accusing, but there was no anger—only sadness and deep disappointment.

"What do you mean?"

She glanced down at the warm body in her arms and saw that she was no longer cradling a wounded Zuko. Vertigo seized her and suddenly Zuko was on top of her. His warm naked body was pressed into hers from above.

"Aang, this isn't what it looks like!" She pushed her chin past Zuko's shoulder and feebly reached out to the Avatar. "I can explain."

As she moved to get up, Zuko pressed into her again, deeply this time, and she cried out. Tears of shame and humiliation stained her cheeks as she juddered. Her body was betraying her. This shouldn't have felt good; she shouldn't have felt so comfortable with Zuko. Aang was the man she loved, the man she made a promise to, not Zuko.

Aang's sad eyes fell and he turned away. She watched his retreating form and she reached out again, calling for him. But was she really calling for him? Was she really reaching out to touch him?

Strong hands clasped around her wrists and pushed her back down. This time she met smouldering golden eyes. She could feel the heat radiate off Zuko in waves. Her chest heaved, rising up to meet his. Her cool skin glided along his and he growled lowly in his throat.

His hot breath fanned against her neck and her back instinctively arched. Her eyes widened with fear and something else—something she didn't want to admit. Zuko's mouth travelled up her neck and chin until his smooth lips brushed against hers. She trembled at his electric touch, feeling the vibrations spread throughout her body all the way down to her toes.

She closed her eyes and parted her lips in anticipation.

This was wrong . . . wasn't it?

**.**

"Katara?"

Katara bolted awake. Her tunic was soaked through at the back with sweat. She brought a shaky hand to her eyes and rubbed, as though that action alone could erase the memory of her dream. Her fingers swept upwards into her hairline and she ran her digits through her dishevelled hair, breathing deeply. She heard someone say her name again, this voice distinctively feminine and old, and she lowered her hand.

"Kala?" she croaked. Her voice was grainy and unused.

"You were having quite the dream," the old woman said from the other side of the cell, and Katara wearily rose to her feet.

She crept over to the crack in the wall and tried to blink the sleep out of her eyes while focussing on the older Water Tribe woman. She was sitting in the all-too-familiar lotus position that she had been seated in the day before.

"Was I talking in my sleep?" A blush of guilt and shame blossomed in Katara's chest and quickly travelled up to her cheeks.

"No." Kala's watery blue eyes were focussed on Katara in such a way that it made her decidedly uncomfortable. "But it's obvious that something or _someone_ is weighing heavily on your mind."

Katara exhaled slowly and frowned. She had noted earlier that Kala was able to see and know things she shouldn't have. Her grandmother would have called her a psychic. Katara normally wouldn't have believed in such things, not until she arrived here and met the Truth-Seers herself. Was Kala like them?

"No, child, I am not like Yin and Yang," Kala said, and Katara fell back in surprise. The old woman had read Katara's mind. "I suppose I am somewhat similar to what you would call a Truth-Seer, but I am nothing like those twins."

"But I—but I thought Truth-Seers were blind."

"And how many Truth-Seers have you met?"

"Well, uh, the twins would be my first," Katara admitted sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck. "But I have a friend who's blind and she's sort of a human lie detector. She can read people's tones and pulses."

"That just means she's very in tune with her surroundings." Kala gestured to herself with a withered hand before bowing her head. "There are a few of us Truth-Seers, and we tend to keep our powers secret."

"Like bloodbending?"

"Yes, Hama most likely wasn't the first bloodbender and you most certainly won't be the last. Our powers are too dangerous to share with others. They make us a target for those who seek to control and abuse what is ours."

Katara mulled over the older woman's words. It was true that such powers as her own, like bloodbending, were dangerous in the wrong hands. She only had to remember Hama to know that. Mindbending didn't seem to be any better. To be able to steal someone's thoughts or kill people with your mind—what mad tyrant wouldn't want to exploit such a power?

"So why are the twins blind?" Surely there had to be a reason since Kala obviously wasn't blind, and she _seemed_ to hold the same powers.

"Not all Truth-Seers are blind. Most lose their sight when they try to use their powers too often or dive too deeply—delving into the minds and souls of others." Kala regarded Katara carefully with those keen milky blue eyes of hers. "It's a dangerous power, mindbending. You can unravel a person's entire existence: their memories, their identity. _Everything_."

Katara blenched. She had thought bloodbending was bad, to manipulate people's bodies like puppets, but to go into someone's mind and change who she was, her very existence—_that_ was terrifying.

"Then you're a mindbender!" Katara clamped her hands over her mouth, as though she had just let the greatest secret loose, and Kala nodded.

"Yes, I am what you would call a mindbender." She smiled thinly. "Hama wasn't the only gifted one from the South."

Katara lowered her hands. "So is any bender capable of mindbending? It can't be just a waterbending technique since Yin and Yang can do it."

"What they do is very different from what I do," Kala said, her tone reproachful. "And I have no idea if _any_ bender is capable of mindbending, though I highly doubt it. My grandmother was a mindbender and her father before her. Psychic or mindbending is very much related to the water element, like healing and blood. Memories and thoughts are like pools of water; a mindbender can navigate those seas and fish for the information she desires."

"But Yin and Yang don't look like waterbenders."

"And Ouji doesn't look like a firebender," Kala countered. "They could have it in their blood. Yin, especially."

Katara shuddered to think that the twins could be waterbenders. Two people even more evil and powerful than Hama sharing _her_ element was unthinkable.

"Hama was not as bad as you make her out to be," Kala muttered, and Katara turned in shock. "She was once good and morally righteous like yourself, but prison and torture have a way of changing a person."

Katara shifted uncomfortably. She absolutely hated being rebuked, but Kala was right. "Speaking of Hama, how could she have escaped? Even if she survived the desert outside by drawing water from whatever source she could, how did she get past all the guards and leave this island?"

Kala frowned thoughtfully. "I'm not sure. Hama's bending was advanced back then, most likely more powerful than yours is now."

Now it was Katara's turn to scoff. She had beaten Hama at her own game and entirely on her own without having the many decades of practice Hama had. But just as these prideful thoughts surfaced, there was a sudden pulling sensation at the back of her head.

Katara's mind began to reel, spinning back to a memory—the memory of her fighting Hama. Instead of focussing on Hama's bloodbending, Kala had her concentrate on Hama herself; observing her movements, her breathing, her eyes. Hama had reacted slowly yet purposefully to Katara's attack, pulling back at the last moment.

"She held back," Katara gasped, feeling Kala slip out of her mind. The images immediately retreated back to her stored memories under lock and key.

"It is undeniable that you are strong, Katara; probably the strongest waterbender this world has seen in centuries. But Hama was not weak, not when it came to bloodbending."

Katara was still struggling for air, amazed by the power of this old woman sitting on the other side of the wall. If this was the least evasive form of mindbending, she shuddered to think what the twins could do to her—what they had already done to Zuko.

"Why did she let me defeat her?"

Kala shrugged. "I'm not sure if it was even a conscious decision on her part, for she genuinely looked shocked when you overpowered her. But perhaps her subconscious was reaching out to you, knowing that only you could put an end to her destructiveness." She bowed her head and sighed. "The Hama you met was not the Hama I knew."

Katara looked away and began fidgeting with the hem of her tunic. It had always been her way to hastily judge others—for good or bad. She would have liked to have thought that she was an excellent judge of character, but she had made mistakes—Jet and Hama being her biggest. But when they turned out to be different than what she had expected, or what she had hoped, she had turned on them in the belief that they couldn't possibly change. She had done the same with Zuko and look where he was now: in a prison full of enemies who wanted him dead and yet he was there to save _her_.

"Can you heal, too?" Katara asked meekly, still too proud to apologise for her assumptions, and Kala nodded, seeming far from upset.

"Most mindbenders are healers, although I'm not as exceptionally gifted as yourself."

"Could you teach me? Not to mindbend but to—"

"To prevent the twins from reading your thoughts and finding out about your friend?"

Katara's eyes widened in shock, and then she humbly bowed her head. If Kala knew about Zuko, then so would Yin and Yang. What if she got him captured or worse—killed? She couldn't live with herself if she betrayed him, unconsciously or not.

"It's very noble what he has done for you, the risks he has taken," Kala said gently. "There's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Ashamed?" Katara blinked, nonplussed. "What for?"

"It's clear that you have feelings for him." Kala smiled conspiratorially. "Despite the fact that you are engaged to the Avatar."

"I—" Katara swallowed hard; images of her dream and the day before flitted through her mind. "It's complicated."

Kala smirked. "It always is." Her expression suddenly hardened, making the younger girl shift uncomfortably under the older woman's gaze. "Just remember that prison changes people. When you're placed in certain situations it's only natural to do what you must in order to survive. You need not justify your actions or your feelings."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that it's possible to love two people at the same time—in different ways for different reasons."

"No." Katara violently shook her head. "No, you have it all wrong. I care about Zu—the other one as a friend. I just—"

"A coping mechanism, then?" Kala interrupted, and Katara blinked in confusion.

"Huh?"

"You disassociate yourself from the event or problem and pretend that it never happened, or you try to convince yourself that it's normal."

Katara thought back to Zuko bathing her and she winced. Why had she accepted that action as though it was normal? Sure she was comfortable with him, but was she really _that_ comfortable? Aang never gave her baths.

"I'm sorry." Kala's voice seemed to slice through Katara's memories. "I will try not to pry in the future, but you must learn to mask your emotions as well as your thoughts."

"Am I that obvious?"

Kala laughed softly. "You wear your heart on your sleeve, my child." Exhaling wearily, her blue eyes suddenly darkened. "And if the twins were to ever see you with the assassin, they would know what you know."

Katara's stomach dropped. "What can I do to fix this?"

"I will show you how to control your emotions and your thoughts, how to hide them and show only fragments." Kala offered the younger girl a reassuring smile. "And maybe you can teach your _friend_, too."

**.**

**.**

**.**

THE MOST DOLEFUL torment of incarceration was boredom, pure and simple. The endless hours of the day seemed to creep by, a day in which Katara's body longed to rest despite the painful glare of sunlight streaming in through the slit of a window above.

Confinement in a featureless stonewall cell was even more onerous than sitting in a suspended cage; at least out in the open her eyes could focus on the space around her instead of four blanks walls and a ceiling. But now that she was able to converse with Kala next door, her daily schedule had become less monotonous. At least she had something to do. However, learning how to shield her thoughts from Kala was proving far more difficult than she had anticipated. She really did wear her heart on her sleeve.

After several hours of practise, it had become difficult for Katara to stay focussed on Kala's teachings. The old mindbender had managed to walk Katara through the breathing and concentration techniques, having her associate her thoughts with water; that her memories and her thoughts were something she could hide within the depths of her mind like a well, only revealing pieces at a time but never the whole. It was like floating debris to the surface.

During the sessions Katara's thoughts had begun to wander, veering wildly from praying that Zuko was safe to fomenting the most hideous and agonising tortures that the twins could possible inflict upon him, or her, in the near future. Her worry for Zuko's and her own safety was evident on her face as it was in her mind, and Kala reproached her for it.

"Child, you cannot so openly dwell on what's happening now. You must hide these secrets, bury them deep inside yourself and cover them with half-truths."

"Half-truths?"

"The best lies are those clothed with articles of truth." Kala's eyes were still closed. "You worry for this friend of yours, but your excessive concern can only get him caught or killed."

"Do you want me to pretend that I don't care?" Katara's voice had raised an octave. "He's risked everything to come find me!"

"And you must honour his sacrifice by helping him, not hindering him."

Katara took in a shuddering breath and looked away, ashamed. "Then what can I do?"

"Replace his face with someone you hate, someone you fear, and bury the parts of him that you love deep down inside yourself."

"I used to fear and hate him." Katara hazarded a smile. "Does that help?"

"No," Kala said without a trace of mirth. "Whenever the assassin is mentioned in your presence you should never see his true face, just the mask. Associate him with something terrifying."

"But I'm afraid! I'm afraid that by doing so I'll forget who he is and what he means to me." Katara shook her head. "I'm afraid the same will happen with everyone else—Aang, Toph, Sokka . . ."

"My dear child you will _never_ forget them. They are your family. They will always be here—" Kala reached through with a bony finger and pointed at Katara's chest "—in your heart.

"All you're doing is not allowing parts of yourself, such as your thoughts and memories of them, to rise to the surface. I'm not taking them away from you. I'm just showing you how to hide and redirect them. I'm showing you how you can manipulate your own thoughts."

"You mean misdirection?" Katara asked, and Kala nodded.

"Learning how to navigate your own mind will take time, but you're a fast learner. I'll show you not only how to control your thoughts but your emotions, too—like the ebb and flow of the tide."

"Like Tui and La!"

"Exactly."

The two waterbender shared a knowing smile in the silence before resuming their practice. Katara once more began emptying her mind of all thoughts, becoming water. Their tranquillity was rudely interrupted by a voice from behind.

"You're not discussing boring waterbending techniques, are you?"

Kala jumped slightly in her seat before turning to face the intruder. "Ouji!" She held a withered hand over her heart. "Don't sneak up on an old woman like that! I swear you'll be the death of me."

Katara couldn't see the boy, but she could hear him laughing. It was a soft rumbling sound at the back of his throat.

"My apologies, Kala." He lowered a satchel to the floor and began to rummage through it, withdrawing a waterskin and some small wrapped packages. "Sorry I'm late to bring you your breakfast." He took the empty waterskin from Kala and placed it back inside the bag. "The guards have been watching me like a hawk all morning."

"Gee, I wonder why," the old woman drawled, before opening one of the packages. It was a ball of rice. "Did you bring something for Katara?"

"Of course."

There was a grunt followed by a lengthy pause and then there was a soft rustling sound that carried into Katara's cell. A piece of the wall seemed to give way before pushing out, not quite falling, and a smiling head poked through.

"Hello." The young man pushed his satchel out and dropped soundlessly to the ground. "My name is Ouji."

Katara could only gawk as Ouji seemed to materialise from the ceiling and dust himself off before offering her an informal bow. There was a vent two feet above his head, just small enough to fit someone like herself. How this boy, who was bigger than she, managed to squeeze through baffled her to no end.

"Hi, I'm—"

"Master Katara," he finished for her, and Katara raised an eyebrow in suspicion.

"How do you know I'm a master?"

"A prince knows everyone in his castle." Ouji's lips lifted into a smirk while Kala snorted from the other side of the wall.

"Uh, right," Katara said slowly, observing the boy in front of her.

He was at least eighteen, maybe twenty, with a lean and wiry build. His hair and eyes were unmistakeably Water Tribe. Although his skin was lighter than hers and his face remarkably younger, he was almost the spitting image of her father—from the bone structure down to the way he held himself like a natural-born leader.

"Is everything okay?" Ouji asked, stirring Katara from her reverie.

"Oh, yes, I—sorry, uh, it's just that you just look so much like my father. It's uncanny."

"Hmm, awkward conversation starter," he muttered, bringing a hand to the back of his head. "So, what are you two doing?"

"Kala here is teaching me how to resist a psychic invasion."

Ouji's eyes darkened. "Yin and Yang?"

"Yes," Katara answered hesitantly. Ouji's eyes were intense and penetrating, and she felt as though the room itself was contracting as his pupils dilated. "Do you—have you met them before?"

"Once." He picked up his satchel and took out food and water, which he handed to Katara. "They took me away from my mother."

"B-but I thought your mother died in childbirth."

Ouji looked past Katara to the wall where Kala sat on the other side. "Kala must really like you in order to tell you that story."

"No-no, she didn't tell me everything." She placed the food next to her mat. "I-I'm sorry if I'm being nosey."

He took in a deep breath. "It's alright. My birth mother died here in childbirth, but my real mother, the Painted Lady, was taken away from me when I was only seven."

Katara swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded slowly. She knew what it was like to lose a mother at a young age. Unlike Ouji, Katara at least had her father and brother—and her freedom.

"I'm sorry." She reached out to touch his arm and he nodded his thanks. And then a thought seized Katara so tightly that she could not shake it. "If you don't mind me asking, could you tell me more about her? I once met the Painted Lady at Jang Hui River."

Ouji regarded Katara critically for a moment before shaking his head. "No-no, you misunderstand. My mother wasn't the water spirit. She was very much human. Everyone called her the Painted Lady because of her incredible beauty and kindness."

"It's true," Kala said from the other side of the wall. "She took care of the prisoners here, tended to us when we were sick, read to us, and ensured that we were all properly cared for."

"She was a remarkable woman of great culture and class," Ouji added with a touch of melancholy. "She's the one who told me stories of the Painted Lady and the Blue Spirit."

Katara frowned. "She was Fire Nation?"

"Yes. It was from her that I learned the art of Wushu."

"Wushu?"

"The martial art that master firebenders use." He offered her a sheepish grin. "Unfortunately, I have no master here and teaching is forbidden. I can barely create a flame."

"Ouji," Kala scolded, "you're too hard on yourself."

"It's true, Kala." He bent down to peer at the older woman. "And you know it."

Kala let out a grunt of disapproval while Katara merely observed Ouji with keen blue eyes. "Are there no firebenders here aside from the guards?"

"There were others, but they were moved a long time ago." Ouji made to move past Katara towards the vent. "There are two Fire Nation prisoners here, Ken and Ryuu, and three colonists, but they're all political prisoners, not benders."

As he made to jump back up into the vent, Katara called out to him: "Wait, please!" He glanced over his shoulder. "I have to ask you—how are you able to move around so freely?"

Ouji smiled, which instantly lit up his face, and he pointed up at the rafters. "I know the layout of the entire prison, where all the secret passages are."

"Does the warden know?"

"Probably. The guards know that I escape, but they also know that I'll _always_ return." When Katara gave him a disbelieving look, Ouji inclined his head ever so slightly. "You see, if I were to leave, they'd punish the others. And there's not much they can do to me but put me in the coolers." He offered Katara a coquettish grin and a wink. "But try as they might to punish me they don't know _how_ I escape the prison, and I'll never tell them."

"Escape from the prison? You can do that?" When he nodded in response, Katara's brow knitted in confusion. "But aren't you afraid that they'll capture and torture you—or even kill you?"

"Not especially." Ouji shrugged. "Besides, they seem to leave me alone for the most part."

"Why's that?"

"My father was one of the guards and I suppose they don't want to kill his son?" He shrugged again. "I dunno. Most of the guards here are dishonourable men, except Atsuo."

"As long as Chen says so, right?" Kala piped in, and Ouji laughed.

"Right. What Chen says goes."

Katara blinked. "Who's Chen?"

"Chen's our leader. He's been imprisoned here the longest, even longer than Kala." Ouji pointed to Katara's left. "He's kept in a special cell at the end of the hall on the other side. He's an earthbender."

Katara glanced at her cell door. There was no way for her to see outside, to even know that there were other prisoners here besides herself, Kala and now Ouji. And she only knew Kala existed because of the hole in the wall, which Katara was beginning to believe the old woman had created herself in order to communicate.

"How do you all know each other if you're so isolated?" she asked, giving Ouji a puzzling look, and he smiled.

"We're not. We're allowed to congregate for meals and exercise."

"Then why haven't I seen any other prisoners here except for Kala?"

"Because _you_ are in isolation, and Kala here—" he pointed directly at the wall "—is in trouble."

"Trouble?"

Ouji nodded and ran his tongue along his incisor. "After your last _interrogation_ session—" he made quotation marks in the air "—Kala here tried to revive you and give you water."

"I don't remember that."

"Well, you _were_ unconscious," Kala quipped dryly.

Ouji laughed outright, and even Katara couldn't prevent the smile from creeping onto her lips. She was almost sure this place had a way of developing a morbid sense of humour, as well as driving one to madness.

"This section you're in right now is considered isolation, sort of like the cages but far more comfortable." Ouji motioned to their surroundings. "This entire prison is layered in accordance of freedom—the higher you climb, the less restrictions.

"The guards' quarters and Kenzo's office are at the very top in another wing. The lower you go, however, the more restrictive. The bottom-most level contains the coolers and above that are the interrogation cells. The cages are a level above that and then we have an atrium of sorts in another wing and a common room or mess hall where we're served our meals."

Katara pondered Ouji's words and began to pace the length of the floor. As she hemmed and hawed to herself, the teenager observed her with unmasked curiosity.

"Since you know this place so well, is there a way to escape?"

Ouji leaned back against the wall, intrigued. "Yes, but that way is dangerous and the scouting guards could easily spot you." He smiled smugly and crossed his arms over his chest. "Unless you're me."

Katara stopped her pacing and muttered under her breath, "Then how did Hama escape?"

"Hama?" Ouji dropped his hands. "I've read about her in the old journals."

"You have access to prison journals?"

"I have access to all kinds of journals and maps—all liberated from Warden Kenzo's office, of course."

"Could you bring some to me?"

"Planning a prison break?"

"Maybe."

Ouji stared at Katara long and hard before inclining his head. "I'll get the journals and the maps for you on one condition."

"What's that?"

"You have to break us _all_ out here."

Katara grinned and folded her arms beneath her breasts. "Ouji, that was _always_ part of the plan."

The boy suddenly laughed at her bravado and wiped at his nose with the back of his hand. "I can see why you like her, Kala." He nodded. "Fine. I'll bring 'em to you as soon as I can. In the meanwhile, be well, Master Katara, and be wary of Yin and Yang. I'll bring you some more food and water after lunch."

"Thank you, Ouji."

He nodded once more before turning to the vent and effortlessly hoisting himself up. "Want me to say _hi_ to Chen for you, Kala?"

"Don't you have some mischief to get into?" the old woman growled from the other side of the wall, and Ouji's laughter echoed softly.

"Have fun with your mindbending, ladies."

**.**

**.**

**.**

THE GUARDS DIDN'T come for Katara until the evening, and this time the warden personally escorted her to the holding cell. Nobleman Kenzo stood tall and smug in the doorway of her cell, and although he was a handsome man despite the scar below his left eye—or maybe he was handsome _because_ of it—Katara could only see the evil ugliness beneath the façade.

When he grabbed her by the arm and yanked her forward, Katara had to resist the urge to spit in his face—again. She had decided she would practise her emotional control with him first. The warden, however, didn't appear to be pleased with this sudden change in demeanour. He all but pouted when she didn't rise to his baiting. It seemed that he preferred her feisty attitude, sick as he was.

Kenzo escorted Katara from her cell to the interrogation floor. She stalked gracefully past the guards that stood in line against the walls, her face held rigidly expressionless by nothing more than iron determination. The men stood to attention as Kenzo walked the prisoner to the cell, or as best as they could in the narrow tunnel-way. At the end of the corridor stood the twins, and that was when Katara's steps faltered.

Mustering every screed of courage within her, she proceeded forward, keeping Kala's teachings in mind. She would not be so easily cowed by these Truth-Seers, or by the guards who unabashedly stared at her as she passed. Instead, Katara raised her chin even higher, an annoying habit of hers.

She was the picture of icy arrogance, though most men seemed to find that attractive. Perhaps it was her looks—she _was_ a singular woman, after all—or maybe it was her strong will coupled with the intense power that seemed to radiate off her in waves. Or maybe it was the motherly tendencies she had worked so hard to mask over the years. Whatever it was about Katara that drew men to her, it was beyond her control. She couldn't very well hide who she was: a determined yet haughty woman with a heart of gold. So she would be the picture of class in this den of thieves and cut-throats; she would be the Painted Lady.

"Nobleman Kenzo," Yin spoke, prompting the warden to halt. "I'm afraid that you will not be _interrogating_ Master Katara this evening." She withdrew a delicate hand from her sleeves and pointed to the cell where the assassin waited. "Kage-san will."

Zuko was standing inside the cell with his mask on. Katara's eyes subtly travelled over his body and saw that he was naked from the waist up. She immediately began to panic and took a terrifying step back.

"Of course." Kenzo bowed lowly to the twins before turning to Katara, who had inadvertently backed into him. "You will tell us everything you know soon enough."

He grinned, a smile that was all teeth and didn't quite reach his eyes, before stepping out of the way. With his solid weight no longer holding her up, Katara stumbled backwards as the Truth-Seers advanced on her.

"You have one last chance to tell us what we want to know, Waterbender," Yang said, and Katara felt a sudden, excruciating pain pull at the back of her head. It was nothing like how Kala had read her mind. Yang was only reading her emotions, but it felt like he was clawing at both mind and soul.

Slowing her breathing, Katara instantly thought of Yon Rha, the man who had killed her mother—a man she had once feared more than any other. That hate and terror began to radiate within her, and she instantly attached Zuko's masked face, Kage's face, to Yon Rha's.

"I would rather die than give up my friends!" Her ice blue eyes narrowed on Yang's. It took all her strength not to lunge forward with her unbound hands and claw out his eyes.

"Oh, there are worse things than death, my dear," Yin said, a coquettish grin blossoming on her blood-red lips. "_Much_ worse."

Two guards stepped forward and seized Katara by the arms, unceremoniously throwing her into the room. She skidded across the floor, though this time she was mercifully able to brace herself with her hands to prevent her mouth from smashing into the hard stone. She glanced up to see Zuko standing shirtless above her, shurikens nestled between his fingers. His dual dao swords were sitting on the table with his shirt and hood. The only article on his face was his gruesome skull mask, glinting silver and menacing in the torchlight.

"Take your time with her, Kage-san," Yin said from the door, with that horrible smile still lingering on her lips. "Do not be afraid to get a little . . . dirty."

And with a tittering laugh, the ghastly woman stepped beside her brother and they both turned back down the narrow hallway. The two guards exited the room as well and, with a deafening clank, the door was shut behind them.

"Zuko," she whimpered softly, too softly for anyone to hear, and he was beside her in an instant. Grabbing her by the arms, he helped lift her to her feet and held her shivering body against his.

"They want me to—that is I have to . . ."

"I know."

She was fully aware of what their final interrogation tactic was.

"I can't fake this," he said in Southern Water Tribe. "The twins will know." He took off his mask and threw it on the table before holding her back at arm's length. "You're going to have to resist me and I'm going to have to—"

"Get off me!" Katara suddenly screamed, pushing Zuko away, but not before slicing at his bare chest with her nails.

Beads of crimson bubbled to the surface of his flesh and Katara reached out with her fingers to bend his blood. She opened the cuts deeper and Zuko hissed out in pain, reeling in shock. He put his hands to his chest and pulled away fingers stained with blood. Grimacing, he looked up at her with pure confusion etched across his face.

"Just go with it," she whispered.

Zuko had risked everything, his life and his country, by coming here for her, and Katara wasn't about to take his sacrifices lightly. Torn between the love in her heart and the revulsion she felt for what Zuko was being asked to do, survival had become her primary instinct. She could only thank the spirits that it was Zuko and not some stranger in his position—not Kenzo or one of his guards. She would simply have to endure. She had no choice.

Nodding in understanding, Zuko stepped in closer. She could see the hesitation and the guilt in his eyes, and she was worried that the twins would never believe the act. So Katara reached out and slapped him hard across the face, sending him reeling again. She was glad they hadn't bound her wrists this time, giving her freedom of movement. When she reached out to slap him again, he caught her wrist and clamped down hard.

His golden eyes glinted dangerously in the torchlight, and Katara lifted her chin to give him a daring look, encouraging him to strike back. As though reading her mind, he pulled back with his free hand and slapped her across the face and she buckled to her knees. She touched her already-bruising cheek and glared at him as involuntary tears stung her eyes.

"Don't touch me!" she hissed for the benefit of their potential eavesdroppers outside.

She stood up and her eyes briefly met Zuko's before she brought two shaky hands to the neck of her tunic, holding them there. Zuko swallowed hard and brought his own fingers to the fastening of his trousers. The rest of his clothing fell to the floor in a crumpled heap. When he revealed himself to her, Katara let out a shuddering breath, seeing that he was already half-hard, and she turned away in embarrassment.

"I said _don't touch me_!" she repeated at the door, biting her lip as his hands reached out and touched hers, causing her to jump.

Zuko's eyes were worried and his hands were hesitant as they found the hem of her tunic. Slowly, he lifted it up past her thighs and hips. His palms slid over her ribs before pulling the fabric free from her body.

Naked before him, Katara could only nod encouragingly for him to continue. She could feel the heat spread across her cheeks as his soft fingers trailed across her naked flesh. Reaching out, she took his hands and placed them on top her breasts. She put her own hands to his chest, staining her fingers with his blood.

"You bastard!" Her voice hitched in her throat as the pad of his thumb accidentally brushed over a sensitive nipple. "I'll _kill_ you!"

By then her own hands had fumbled downwards, unconsciously finding his member and squeezing it firmly in her grasp. She didn't know why she did this other than to try to make the situation that they were in enjoyable somehow, less awkward. It was her coping mechanism kicking in. She was somewhere else right now, not quite _here_.

Zuko made a growling noise at the back of his throat and he stirred in her hand. His eyes were closed and his lips were parted slightly as he inhaled. His skin was so damn hot to touch that her palm felt like it had been scorched just from the mere feel of him. She had been able to tell that he had been partially hard from the adrenaline of her hitting him and the bloodbending, but now his body was crying out for release and he struggled vainly to keep from thrusting into her hand.

"I've told you everything I know! I—"

Suddenly he grabbed her by the arms and roughly lowered her down onto the dirty floor. She was barely able to comprehend what was happened. Swift motions, one leading to the next, and then he was in between her legs and parting her thighs with large, calloused hands.

Their eyes met—a look of entreaty from his and hesitant permission from hers—and he positioned himself between the apex of her thighs with muttered apologies. Using his own blood and saliva, Zuko coated the length of his cock before pressing the tip against her warm opening. He didn't even need to make her wet. She had done that on her own.

The moment their bodies joined, they both gasped. Katara murmured indistinguishable sentences while Zuko grunted something unintelligible in the crook of her neck. He turned away, looking furious with himself for losing control, but Katara could only close her eyes and hold onto him for dear life.

The feeling was more intense than she had expected. He was thick and she was wet, excited despite herself. But even with her own arousal making her pliable, he still burned inside her. She wasn't sure that her body could recover from this kind of heat or this kind of invasion. He was stretching her in ways she had never experienced.

Even as she shakily breathed out, he instinctively pitched his hips downwards into her, forcing himself farther into her body. She whimpered loudly with each thrust, burying her tear-stained face into his shoulder, and he immediately stilled. He was about to pull out when she arched her hips upwards, meeting his own hips and causing him to cry out with a muffled voice that neither recognised.

She could feel him hot and hard, twitching inside of her, and she knew that he was struggling not to come. They lay still for a moment in each other's embrace and she contracted her muscles around him, slowly taking him deeper inside her. Eventually she had taken him all the way in and Zuko reached down with his hand, roping his fingers through her blood-soaked tendrils. His throat was jumping with the electricity of his pulse and she could feel his cheeks blossoming with heat. What little control she had been exerting to mask her pleasure washed away the instant he began rolling his hips into her.

She moaned loudly and air whistled out between his teeth. He brought his hands to her calves and lifted them up and back so he could angle the groove deeper. When her knees were almost touching her shoulders, he thrust deeper until she was the forced to cry out, a scream gurgling in her throat.

He was so rigid inside of her, forcing apart tissue that had not been touched in so long that she had to remind herself to breathe. He was an intrusion, thick and hard and hot—so hot that she was afraid they were both going to burst into flames. And as he moved faster, his pale skin chafing against her soft lips, the head of his cock pressed deeper inside of her and made her vision swim with exploding white stars.

He stared down at her with an unreadable expression on his face as he moved. Tears slid down her cheeks and she juddered. It was unnerving. It was all too much. It was not enough. And even though this act was supposed to be purely for show, something to catalogue for future reference, she couldn't help but feel somewhat disappointed that he wasn't behind her, rutting her like some kind of animal.

But that would be wrong; that would be the both of them submitting to their most carnal desires. This was just supposed to be an act, a means of survival. But as much as Katara wanted to admit that she went along for the show of it, to keep Zuko's identity safe and the both of them alive, she couldn't deny the pleasure she felt from him being inside her.

Zuko continued to rhythmically plunge inside her and Katara instinctively tightened her muscles around his shaft. He stilled against her body and their eyes met; in that moment they were both struck silent by how perfectly they fit together. When he moved inside her again, slower this time, her fingers found his hips and her nails dug in before travelling up his back.

Every move they made created a thick, wet sound that echoed from between their bodies. She was so turned on, so wet that her arousal was coating his cock and her inner thighs. More than that she tried to meet his movements, using her feet and arms as leverage to drive up into him. But his thrusts were too powerful and too deep, making her thighs and arms tremble.

She could feel him trembling, too, feel the desperate twitching of his muscles. She chanced to look up and saw that his eyes were closed and his lips set in a thin, determined line. Then his lashes fluttered open, revealing dark golden eyes; pupils so dilated that his irises were only a slender circle of gold. Her own eyes darkened in return and he snapped his hips into her deeper and harder, letting loose a guttural sound she had never heard before.

She cried with him, meeting every stroke, every combined movement. They were like dancers working together towards one dire, hot pinpoint of a goal. And as her stomach fluttered, as her legs shook, she knew that when they came it was going to be frightening, and it would hit her all the way to her core. It was going to drain them both of everything and she was going to let him—she was going to let him come inside her.

Katara moaned Zuko's name in his ear—so quietly that only he could hear it. Without warning, Zuko guided his hands around her waist and lifted them both up into a sitting position. Gasping, Katara pressed her chest into his, her muscles keeping him inside. He thrust up into her, his hot flesh carving her open, and she cried out loudly, desperately. In their frenzy, neither of them noticed that their foreheads were touching or that the blood from Zuko's chest and face had transferred to Katara's—that she had his rich, red blood smeared all over her cheek and neck.

He pulled out with a collective protest before rolling her onto her hands and knees. Her skin scraped along the floor as he re-entered her from behind. Her whimpering cries echoed throughout the chamber but neither cared. She was bucking her hips back into him again and again and his fingers gathered her hair, yanking her head back as he arched into a different groove before impaling her even deeper than before.

Katara could feel the strength of Zuko inside her, and when he withdrew and plunged in again, she screamed. He was creating a burning tattoo of a rhythm, a primal drumbeat that made her body jar with each forceful thrust. She could feel her slickness on him as he slid in and out without any resistance or friction, and she moaned with abandon as he hastened his pace. She could hear the wet sounds her body was making and the ungodly sounds that were coming out of her mouth as he angled himself inside of her again and again, pressing against her pulse, her nerves, her core.

She groaned his name and all of a sudden their movements became sloppy and fast like electricity. The pleasure was gathering between her legs, moving cautiously like an animal, and then it snapped, arcing upwards. She felt it in her throat, across her cheeks, through her eyes and then downwards into her thighs, her calves, her feet, her toes. There was a hot wetness between their bodies, between her legs, on him, on the floor, _everywhere_, and he thrust himself into her harder still.

She tilted her head back and let loose a cry so loud and so long that she sounded like a cat screaming, an animal in pain. Her litany was incoherent and jangled, and on her last words her voice pitched into a shriek because he had found that perfect place—that perfect place inside her—and he was pushing all of his weight _into_ her. She couldn't even move for the pleasure of it. It was holding her tight and immobile in its iron hot grasp. She could feel her muscles holding him so far inside of her that she was sure some part of her had turned into a fist and he was never going to be able to get out of her.

He pressed his chest into her back and her chin dropped to her collar as she felt him start to come inside her. He bucked into her, letting his spine slip forward. He was making sounds—odd, animalistic sounds—as she continued to twitch and come all over his cock. She was so wet that with only two more haphazard strokes of his hips he was coming into the tight clenching of her.

Growling, he tilted his head back and came hard. He was sweating, grunting loudly as he came, hot inside her and on her inner thigh. Her vision began to swim, blurred and spotted, and her entire body arched so powerfully that she couldn't help but cry out with him. Within the next few seconds, when her vision cleared and when she was pulled out of her blackened reverie, she could feel him leaning over top of her. He was supporting himself on a forearm near her lower back, his heat touching her in ways that made her feel both safe and guilty.

She was vaguely aware of his warm semen dripping out of her and now drying in a congealed smear on her thigh. Tears had gathered in the corners of her eyes, unbidden, hot and prickly. She blinked slowly and they spilt out, trickling down her cheeks and dripping onto the floor. And then he was kissing her shoulder, _kissing her_ while he was still inside her, cleaving her apart as she—

Katara awoke with a start on her side. Her head was swimming and her body was sore. She brought a shaky hand to her head, reckoning that she must have blacked out somehow. But why, and when?

As she shifted, she felt the hard grain of the floor dig into her skin and scrape against her hip. It was then that she was aware of a warm body resting behind her. A protective arm was draped across her waist, and it took her a moment to realise where she was and who she was with.

_Zuko._

"You passed out," he murmured sleepily into her hair, before slowly sliding out of her.

Katara hissed, and she wasn't sure if she was wincing at the pain or the void—the loss of him inside her. She dared not question it any further. His hand was on her hip, urging her to look at him. After a moment she turned her head to see that his eyes were soft and entreating, begging her for forgiveness.

Closing her eyes, Katara battled the hot ache in the hollow of her breast and nodded resolutely. "I will _not_ regret this."

She opened her eyes again to see his slightly widened, but he did not respond. And in that moment Katara wasn't sure _who_ she was trying to convince: Zuko or herself. No matter how she felt about the situation they were in, it was like how Kala had said—she had to adapt to survive; she had to create her own coping mechanisms. This was the way it had to be. Only the strong endured while the weak fell by the wayside.

"Kala has been teaching me how to resist the twins' psionic probing without being obvious about it."

She sat up and reached for her discarded tunic, wincing at the pain between her legs. Zuko's hand was instantly on her hip, but she shook it off before feebly standing to her feet. She swallowed the lump in her throat and began to dress, deliberately avoiding eye contact.

"I might have a way to break us all out of here by the full moon."

Regrets and guilt would have to come later, she told herself. Once they escaped. _If_ they escaped.

* * *

**Author's notes: **Two things that come easily to me: snarky banter and angst. Two things that do _not _come easily to me: fluff and smut, especially smut with dub-con elements that include an emotional tie. Seriously, writing smut like this is_ hard_. Luckily there are only a few chapters with it and it's easy to skim. And, yes, these smut scenes are supposed to make you feel uncomfortable. I'm sorry. :/

* * *

**Translations:**

*Wushu is the more precise term for kung fu (Mandarin Chinese).


	7. The Blue Spirit

HIS NAME WAS Ouji, and he was nearly twenty.

The sun was a golden blister in the sky, baking his skin as he stooped beneath the alcove. He brought a gloved hand to his blue eyes, shielding them from what glare and sand he could. It was foolish to wander the desert during the day, but the young man crouching low against the wind-eroded depression was anything but a fool.

He adjusted his fukumen and slid the blue mask into place, waiting for the gust to pass—or at least as much as any blast of sand ever could in the golden-black chasm yawning around the long-dead and buried city of Ka'shi. Giant hills, once mountains worn by wind and time, rose to the north and east and created a valley below. The northern range was taller and steeper than the south, marked by treacherous sandstorms; however, it was the only viable route to the sea. Though one would never venture there on foot.

With feet sure on the desert path, Ouji travelled north towards his destination, though tremendous gales that threatened to uproot him as he climbed. He weathered the storm with a resolved sort of patience, until he reached a short stairwell that carved in the heart of the small mountain itself. Ascending the stairs two steps at a time, he seemed to crawl out of the hole of the dune itself.

Once he reached the summit, he trotted up to the small platform that overlooked the island and took in the view. On the highest peak he could see a glimpse of the ocean in the far distance, and the treacherous kilometres that separated him from it. Below him everything was a golden-white expanse of dunes and a thick haze of heat that never seemed to settle. A dead city inhabiting a dead island. Thus it was a little more than surprising for Ouji to spot a dark figure rising up from one of those dunes, materialising out of thin air like a mirage.

Dropping to the ground, Ouji crawled up the gentle slope on his belly and peered over the crest of the hill. Beneath him rode the stranger, who had finally come into full view. The man, if he was indeed a man, was mounted on a komodo rhino with a dragon hawk perched on his shoulder. Taking in a deep breath, Ouji closed his eyes and counted to five before opening them again. But the man was still there. He was not a mirage.

Ouji glanced back out towards the ocean and squinted against the harsh glare of the sunlight. On the coast was the speck of something black and docked at the harbour—a ship, no doubt—and a second boat casting off to sea. Perhaps the Fifth Column had brought more prisoners or maybe this stranger riding up to the gates was coming to retrieve the last one, the master waterbender who had arrived three weeks ago.

At this point the gale had died down long enough for Ouji to get a good look at the stranger's face, which was hidden behind a silver skull mask and black hood. Aside from the silver mask, he was dressed in the same manner as Ouji, which unnerved the young warrior slightly. The stranger obviously wasn't a new guard and was certainly no Fifth Columnist. His garb, the dragon hawk, and the mannerisms he exhibited as he rode were vastly different from any man at the prison. He had to be an assassin.

Why would the prison employ the services of an assassin? More importantly, who had arrived on the larger ship still docked at the harbour?

Ouji followed the assassin with his eyes. He was almost at the prison gates and a guard was stepping outside to greet him. Luckily no one had yet registered Ouji absence or an alarm would have already gone off. The guards would have never suspected him of escaping at this hour of the day, not in the sweltering heat. Though some knew he could escape his cell, they certainly didn't know how and didn't seem all that interested in stopping him.

He could have easily made a break for it; he had enough water on him. There was no denying that he longed for freedom—to see the ocean up close and smell the salt air, to travel the world outside his prison walls. But Ouji could not and would not leave without the others. This early morning excursion wasn't a means of escape but rather a personal mission, his very own quest of sorts.

Keeping absolutely still and low to the ground, Ouji watched as the assassin dismounted his steed and met with the guard. The masked man turned his head and looked back out at the hills in Ouji's direction. The young man counted the seconds before the assassin's attention was diverted back to the guard, who had finally stepped aside and granted him entrance. Ouji let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding and waited a full minute to move, not until after the guard had disappeared to the other side of the prison wall.

Satisfied that he would not be sighted, Ouji made his way to a ridge where there was another set of stairs that led into an opening on the side of the hill. He quickly ducked inside, entering what was once an ancient foyer half-buried by sand. The enclosure was tight, illuminated only by the slanting rays of dim light that filtered through small holes in the ancient masonry above. The 'hill' had once housed a temple of some sort, and this ruined room was likely a grand and impressive atrium in its days. But now the tiles of the floor were cracked and split, covered with gritty sand. A few feet in front of him was a single slab of unknown metal mixed with marble.

His mother's tombstone.

Without really being aware of what he was doing, Ouji stumbled forward and fell to his knees. He carefully wiped away the sand, digging out the dirt, and traced his fingers along the intricate symbols carved into the metallic stone. There was no date, just the kanji of her family name. The whole emblem was a little larger than his hand, with a great complexity of curving lines and characters. But even the writing had begun to fade with time, time and erosion, and Ouji feared the day that he would be unable to read her name. The desert had a way of stealing everything from him: his freedom, his family, his hope . . .

He tore his gaze away from the faded stone and glanced outside. The clouds were grey and swirling in the sky, but that did not mean it would rain. It almost never rained on this miserable island, at least not in the valley of Ka. Sometimes he would hear the rumble of thunder in the distance and even see lightning strike in the horizon from the small window of his cell, but he had never felt the rain on his skin, never tasted it on his tongue.

No, he had never truly seen the rain, just like he had never truly seen a river or a forest or the colour green. In fact, he had never seen the ocean until he had turned twelve; the first time he had escaped the prison walls. Even then he had only seen the sea from a distance, too far away to touch or smell.

Ouji remembered the stories his mother had taught him and the pictures she had drawn. He wanted nothing more than to see this blue and green world, to visit the forests and lakes, to see what she had seen. More than anything he longed to visit fields, endless green fields and flowered meadows. But the stark reality of his world was that it was hot and cruel, filled with sand and limestone walls, and the oppressive sun always reigning over.

Pulling down his hood, Ouji lowered his mask and fukumen. He took in a deep breath and let the hot dry air steal the moisture from his skin. Then he turned back to the grave and placed a hand on the symbol.

His long brown hair, done in the braided fashion of the Water Tribe, stuck to his tanned forehead beaded in sweat. He had worn it in the Fire Nation style when his mother had passed, as a tribute to her, but as he grew older he felt the need to honour his birth mother, too. Although he had never considered her his real mother, it seemed wrong not to honour her sacrifice. She had died in order to give him life. The Painted Lady had taught him to respect that and to respect not only both his parents' cultures but all of them. She had entrusted in him the concepts of honour and values and that all people were equal.

His birth mother's name was Danaka, a healer of the Northern Water Tribe. What little he knew of her and her culture had come from Kala. She had died shortly after giving birth to him in her prison cell. His father, who he had never met, was her guard and most likely a firebender, as fire was the element that Ouji bent. But for Ouji his real mother would always be the Painted Lady, the beautiful noblewoman who had raised and loved him like her own, teaching him the art of Wushu and the way of the Blue Spirit. She was his life and inspiration, until she was brutally taken away.

"Mother . . ." Ouji paused, trying desperately to control the quiver in his voice. He was a man now, but in her presence, earthly or otherwise, he would always be a child. "There's not a day that goes by that I don't think of you or selfishly wish that you were still here with me, to give me guidance and give the others hope again.

"I try to be positive like you were, but—but I have not your gift of words nor your gentle disposition." He offered her tombstone a watery smile. "I know that you are in a better place now with the Sun God and the Moon Spirit, but I still miss you so very much—"

"How touching."

Ouji spun around, shifting his feet in readiness.

Two guards were behind him; both were elite Fifth Column benders and both were positioned on the offensive. Although Ouji could firebend, he was without a master; so his moves were poor and lacked control at best. There was no way he could take on one accomplished firebender let alone two. He might stand a chance if another sandstorm crept up on them—then he could physically attack them while they were distracted by throwing sand in their eyes—but the winds had died down and he was trapped inside a dead-end cave. The odds were not in his favour.

"How did you find me?" They couldn't have possibly followed his footprints. The sand and wind would have made sure of that.

The tallest guard lowered his fukumen, revealing a salt and pepper beard with more salt than pepper. Ouji recognised him immediately as Atsuo.

"The Truth-Seers told us that a prisoner had escaped," Atsuo answered, and the younger guard standing next to him guffawed in false bravado.

"Scarier than the Spirit World, those two, but a resourceful lot." The other Fifth Columnist lowered his veil and flashed an ugly sneer. "When they said a prisoner had escaped, I knew it'd be you, and I knew _exactly_ where you'd be."

Ouji's hands balled into fists. Of all the guards, he hated this one, Taizo, the most. Atsuo was decent, even kind to the prisoners, especially to Kala and Chen. And because of that Ouji was always respectful towards Atsuo. But Taizo—Taizo was an arrogant, worthless sack of shit who treated the prisoners like animals. Ouji would never show this bastard respect.

"I'm curious how you escaped." Taizo casually retrieved a pair of iron shackles from inside his cloak. "But you'll have plenty of time to tell us once you've spent a day or two in the cooler."

Blue eyes flickered from Taizo to the manacles and then to Atsuo. Wisps of silver hair peeked out from underneath his hood, showing his age, and he shook his head somewhat sympathetically.

"The warden will consider this an escape attempt," Atsuo said, his brown eyes glinting in the harsh glare of the sun.

"And the rest of the prisoners will have to be punished on account of your crime," Taizo added with unmasked glee, elbowing Atsuo in the ribs, and the older guard only grunted.

"No!" Ouji shouted, and the guards immediately shifted into a defensive stance.

"No?" Taizo snarled, training his eyes on the younger man. "You should have thought of that before escaping."

"I wasn't escaping!"

Ouji pointed down at his mother's grave and Taizo relaxed somewhat, before spitting at the ground in front of Ouji's feet.

"How disgraceful is it that a filthy Water Tribe peasant like you was allowed to live? Why Agni decided to give you fire I'll never know, but don't you dare pretend that one of our finest was your mother!"

He spat again, this time at Ouji's face, but the young prisoner easily dodged the spittle and dug his nails deep into his palms. He felt rage bubble up inside him and he considered burning Taizo's face, just to hear him scream. But if he did that he'd be forced to battle Atsuo at the same time. Even if he wanted to fight the older guard, there was no way that he could come out on top. No matter if he won or lost, his 'family' would be punished for his resistance. Instead, Ouji swallowed his pride and dropped his hands in surrender.

"Don't punish the others for my crime," he said, keeping his voice expressionless, but Taizo only snorted derisively before clasping the shackles on Ouji's wrists a bit too tightly.

"It's not up to us, _Blue Spirit_. It's up to the warden." He yanked Ouji's arms upwards so that his shoulder blades connected painfully. "Now let's get you to the coolers. It's hotter than hell out here."

Ouji turned his head and stared down one last time at his mother's grave. He would avenge her death someday. He would avenge all the crimes committed here against his family—and Taizo would be one of the first to know the wrath of the Blue Spirit. He'd make sure of it.

**.**

**.**

**.**

OUJI HAD SPENT more than a day in the coolers for his escape; it was than most spent. It was the sort of punishment that was likely to drive a man sick or insane or kill him outright. But Ouji, if proven by his birth alone, was a survivor. During that time locked up and the day spent in bed afterwards, he had come to reflect on his life. And though the young man wasn't prone to brooding, he had caught himself doing it rather frequently as of late.

This time it was Chen who broken Ouji from his reverie, with his hard gaze fixed upon the young man. "I asked," he repeated with a gruff voice, "what are your thoughts of the new prisoner?"

Ouji blinked several times, staring openly at the older man for a moment. He tried to recall the words of conversation that had droned on in the background of his thoughts, but he was coming up short. New prisoner? What?

"There are thoughts floating around somewhere in that head of yours, aren't there, boy?"

Ouji shook his head. Right, Katara was the new prisoner. "Sorry, I was lost in one of those elusive thoughts of mine." He offered the old man a cheeky grin, which Chen only scowled at. "My thoughts on Master Katara are that she is genuine and strong."

"Powerful bender, eh?"

"That's the word that's been going around—a master by the age of fourteen. According to the guards, she taught the Avatar waterbending."

"What are Kala's thoughts on the girl?"

"Kala seems to think she's strong, even despite the torturing and starving she's had to endure for the past three weeks." Ouji leaned back against the wall and folded his arms across his chest. "The fact that they had to put her in the cage to give her water oughta tell you something."

Chen, who was seated in lotus position, tented his fingers together in intrigue. "How about emotionally?"

"She's endured three weeks of torture." Ouji shrugged. "She doesn't seem broken to me. And Kala—well, Kala's been teaching her how to resist the twins." The old earthbender arched a bushy grey eyebrow at this but said nothing. "She also seems intent on breaking us all out here."

Chen snorted. "Really now? That's rather ambitious of her." He let a brief smile flit across his lips before souring his expression. "So Kala thinks the girl's strong, then?"

Ouji nodded, pushing himself off the wall. "She compared her to someone called Hama, if that means anything."

"Yeah," Chen said in a thick voice, "that means something."

He opened his mouth to speak some more, but Ouji's mind began to wander elsewhere again, thinking back to the first time he had seen the assassin in the desert and then the other day when he had seen him on the stairs. There was something familiar about him that Ouji couldn't quite place. Maybe it was the mask or maybe it was the way he carried himself. He was Master Katara's interrogator, yet she never spoke of him nor seemed all that afraid of him—not like how she felt about the twins.

"What's wrong with you?" Chen barked, rupturing the young man's thoughts. "Why are you so quiet?"

"I dunno, I just . . ." Ouji offered the old man a futile shrug. "I've been distracted lately."

Chen looked at the Water Tribe boy long and hard. "You just got out from the coolers. It's bound to be a little disorienting. Plus, you were in there longer than usual."

"Yeah, for _trying to escape_." He laughed, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I didn't tell you that I saw the assassin come in that day. I also saw him when they were dragging me out of the coolers. He's the new guy interrogating Master Katara."

"An assassin interrogating a prisoner?" Chen quirked an eyebrow. "That's new."

"He arrived here around the same time as the twins."

"You think he's working for them?"

"Who isn't?" Ouji let out a disgruntled sigh. "There's just something about him, though—something familiar. I don't know what it is . . ." He paused and glanced up, seeing the old earthbender eyeing him intently. "Well, I'm going to take a trip up to Kenzo's office tonight during dinner. Katara needs some of the old prison journals."

"What for?"

"She wants to find out how Hama escaped. She thinks that maybe we could learn from her."

"And what's _your_ reason for going?"

"I want to find out more about this assassin—this Kage guy."

"Do you need a distraction?"

"Maybe." Ouji grinned. "You'll know something's up if I'm not back by the time dinner's over."

Chen nodded, his expression serious. "Do I need to tell you to be careful?"

"No, but I appreciate the empty gesture." Ouji winked. "See you tonight at dinner, old man."

**.**

**.**

**.**

NORTH AND WEST the wind blew beneath the waxing moon, over endless kilometres of shifting, burning sand. The sun set early this time of year, bringing the darkness and the cold with it. In the midst of this heartless desert, past the broken-topped hills, loomed the prison towers that used to be part of the great city of the Eastern Sun Warriors.

The building itself was over thousands of years old and seemed to grow out of the ground rather than having been built, or maybe they were simply the work of wind and stone. Time, however, had already done irreparable damage to the towers that feebly climbed out of the valley. Towers that were once white and gleaming, fluted and spiralled, were now nothing more than aged stone. It was the greatest of these former resplendent towers where Kenzo's office was situated and it was that tower that Ouji needed to climb.

He had escaped his cell easily enough during dinner, making his way towards the gallery in plain sight. He had dressed himself in Fifth Column garb, clothes stolen from the guards' quarters a few months back. The cloak's deep hood hid his face but it didn't stop him from seeing that all around him. And the more he saw, the more eager he was to reach Kenzo's office.

A few guards walked the broad hallways with their wall hangings and lit bronze sconces. Ouji kept to the shadows, not once faltering in his step, even when a guard hurried past him. By the time he reached the narrow hall that led to a hidden passageway outside, the adrenaline was already surging in his veins and spurring him into further action.

When he reached the end of the hall, Ouji looked around to make sure that no one was watching. With nimble dexterity, he went to work on the hidden latch and pushed open the fake wall before slithering outside. He clung to the shadows of the gigantic stone pillar, his cloak billowing in the cold desert wind. Digging his fingers into the crevices that lined the solid wall, he hoisted himself up and began scaling the tower with surprising agility.

After several minutes, he slowed his ascent until he came upon a narrow window that looked into the spiralling staircase above the gallery. Pausing to make sure that no one was on the stairs, he clambered up along the southern wall until he reached the highest peak just outside of Kenzo's office.

There were no lights on inside the room; no fire in the hearth and no indication of movement from within. The single window was glassless but fronted by metal shutters latched from within. Holding onto the ledge outside with one hand, Ouji reached for a thin needle contained in the folds of his belt with the other. He then slid the needle through the narrow crack between the shutters, manipulating the latch until it popped off. He put the needle in his mouth and pushed the shutters open before hoisting himself up and carefully dropping down onto the floor.

He tucked the needle back inside his belt and created a tiny flame in the palm of his hand as he glanced around the office. Directly in front of the window was a polished oak desk with rose-carved legs. White-and-gold scroll-work made a broad painted band on the plaster walls just below the high-beamed ceiling. Whoever had designed this had done a fairly good job, as the walls were solid limestone underneath.

There was a large well-dressed stone fireplace to his right, its hearth undecorated and plain. Above it was a round chiselled insignia of the Fifth Column wrought in gold. A tall clock with a little gilding stood on a mantel close to the door, and a few dark wood bookcases lined the walls. Aside from the desk and bookcases, the office was relatively bare, and those were the two places he was most likely to find any information.

He carefully made his way towards the desk first, his footsteps silent. Though it was late and the desert was freezing at night, the air in the room itself was hot and stifling. But with the window closed at least everything inside wasn't coated with a thin layer of sand, which would have made his detection that much more evident with footprints. Fortunately this was not the case; however, the pressing concern was time and Ouji had little of it. He wasn't even sure where to look.

Keeping the flame in his hand low, Ouji began to search the warden's desk. But even Ouji knew Kenzo was far too paranoid to leave personal files or incriminating evidence in plain sight. The information Katara wanted had to be hidden somewhere, but where?

After quickly going through the bookshelves, Ouji brought his light over to the hearth. The fireplace had been used recently, so there was no way something could have been kept hidden and safe underneath the coals. As he stood to turn, Ouji raised his hand and lifted the flame to the gold insignia above the hearth. Frowning, he noted how the moulding was raised higher here than normal, as though it wasn't part of the wall.

He brought the fire to the golden emblem and looked closer; there was a barely noticeable seam laced all around. Placing his fiery palm in the centre of the golden insignia, Ouji pressed firmly until the seal began to glow a bright yellow. His fingers hummed with heat, and a clicking sound prompted him to remove his hand. He stepped back and watched as the gold seal hinged outwards, opening to reveal a hole in the wall. Inside were two very old-looking journals and three scrolls.

Ouji grabbed the scroll first and unfurled it. It looked to be a structural map of the prison and the island itself. Rolling it back up, Ouji tucked the scroll inside his belt and took out one of the journals. He was about to open the cover when he heard noises coming from down the hall. Quickly closing the seal shut, Ouji extinguished the flame in his palm and tucked the journal into his tunic. He sprinted across the room and slipped out the window, closing the shutters as quickly and quietly as possible.

As he hung from the ledge, the door to the office opened. His hand dropped instinctively to the needle in his belt and waited, listening to the hard footfalls. First entered a tall guard carrying a bright flame in his palm and behind him was the warden. They were talking about the assassin, and Kenzo didn't seem impressed at all. In fact, he was angry.

He wasn't merely angry; he was livid. Angry was for subordinates who knew to hold their tongues in the presence of their superiors despite their feelings. Angry was for those times when one had to hit a dog on the nose because it didn't know any better. No, angry wasn't nearly a strong enough word to describe the look on Kenzo's face. It looked as though someone was about to have his life extinguished by the warden's hands.

"This assassin—what power does he have over the Truth-Seers? I just know Yao sent him here to kill me." Kenzo stomped over to his desk, spilling papers as he rifled through his files. "Dammit, where is that scroll?" He slammed his fist down on the hard oak and cursed. "Atsuo, I want you to come get me the moment Kage is done 'questioning' the waterbender. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

Even though the window was closed and Kenzo had no idea someone was outside, Ouji couldn't even begin to relax. He could have descended at this point, made his way back down the tower to his cell, but there was a chance that he could slip or a piece of mortar could break off and make a sound that would alert the warden to his presence. Instead, Ouji kept still and held onto the ledge with all his might, thankful he had at least found a sturdy foot-holding.

"I still don't understand why the Truth-Seers don't interrogate the waterbender themselves," Kenzo muttered, still rifling through the desk drawers.

"Because, Nobleman Kenzo, we only interrogate when there are no other choices left."

Kenzo and Atsuo literally jumped when they heard the female twin's voice. Brother and sister were standing in the doorway, silent as cats.

"Besides, we want information from her," Yang added, "and we can't retrieve it from her if she's dead."

Atsuo, who stood beside Kenzo, coughed once before straightening his spine. Kenzo, however, looked downright cagey.

"Ah, m-my apologies, Yin-sama, Yang-sama." He bowed formally as Atsuo followed suit. "I didn't mean—"

"For us to overhear?" Yin grinned wryly. "Consider it an occupational hazard. The truth is that while the Fifth Column does want the information from the waterbender, what we really desire is to draw out the Avatar."

"And Fire Lord Zuko," Yang added, placing his hand on his sister's arm.

Kenzo, who had been listening patiently, openly baulked at the Truth-Seers' plan. "You're waiting for them to come rescue her? I understand the Avatar, but Lord Ozai's son? You give the boy too much credit."

"And you give him too little." Yin's white eyes seemed to blaze in the torchlight. "Lord Zuko was the Avatar's firebending master. He took lightning for the waterbender." She rolled her tongue along her incisor and paused thoughtfully. "Our informants tell us that they are close friends, and aren't friends supposed to look out for each other?"

"Like family?" Yang supplied, and Yin nodded in agreement. "It's not unreasonable to believe that he'd risk his life to save her—again."

"But—but Zuko's court knows nothing of this prison," Kenzo protested. "Not even General Iroh knows of it or its location, or Lord Ozai."

Yin and Yang shared a smile, as though they were recalling an inside joke. It was as though they knew what the other was thinking. They most likely did.

"You should not underestimate Lord Zuko's resources," Yin warned, "or his determination."

"Rumour has it that he never gives up," Yang added with a wolfish grin. "With the Avatar's air bison it's only a matter of time before they locate this prison and the waterbender herself."

Kenzo stepped out from behind his desk, and Atsuo followed. "And this assassin sent by Yao—what's his part in all of this?" His brow furrowed into a deep V. "You know I have capable men here."

"We wanted to placate General Yao." Yang took a threatening step forward, causing Kenzo to take a tentative step back. "He seems to think that you have too much sway with us."

Kenzo immediately paled. "I never—that is, you must believe me that I would never—"

"Your bragging is of no interest to us, Nobleman," Yin interrupted in a bored tone, dismissing the warden with a wave of her hand.

"But it would be beneficial to your health if you were more discrete," Yang not so subtly threatened, and Kenzo nodded emphatically as he took the hint.

"Of course, m'lord and lady."

Yin smiled and slowly walked over to the warden, reaching out with a slender hand to gently pat his cheek. "We have our own reasons for bringing Kage-san here, and that is sufficient enough answer."

"Of course," he replied dumbly, half-honoured and half-mortified by her touch. "Of course."

Suddenly there was a clamour, the sound of hard-soled boots thudding on the floor and thundering down the hallway towards the office. A red-faced guard burst through the door without knock or warning, almost barrelling into Yang.

"Warden Kenzo!"

The red-faced guard looked as though he was about to flee once he registered that the Truth-Seers were in the room. With the option of fight or flight, the guard chose to stay, but at a considerable distance.

"Excuse me." Kenzo bowed to the twins and walked over to the guard, shooting him a deadly glare. "What is it?"

"It's Chen, sir." The guard licked his lips nervously. "He's causing a disturbance in the mess hall."

"Dammit!" Kenzo cursed loudly before turning to the twins. "Master Truth-Seers, I beg your pardon but I must attend to the prisoners."

Yin and Yang nodded curtly while Kenzo and the guards filed out. Once they had left, Yang inhaled deeply and shook shaking his head in disgust.

"I really detest that man," he said, running his tongue along the roof of his mouth as though something unpalatable resided there.

"Do you like _anyone_, Brother?" Yin asked over her shoulder with a smile, strolling over to the warden's desk. Although they were blind, the twins managed themselves better than most sighted persons. "Kenzo is completely innocuous here and besides—" she ran her fingers over the numerous files and books "—he is good at what he does."

Yang snorted derisively. "The assassin seems to be doing a better job of interrogating the waterbender than Kenzo's men."

"We'll have to put that theory to test after tonight," Yin said absently, drawing closer to the window.

Ouji held on tightly, his feet firmly planted against the wall while his fingers dug into the crevices. His grip was already loosening and he could feel his muscles burning and beginning to seize up. He didn't know how much longer he could hold on and not make a sound.

"You want to question her so soon?" Yang joined his sister, who was shaking her head.

"No, I want to question _him_ first. Remember what Father used to say?" A devilish smirk crossed her lips. "Break the strongest first—"

"And the weaker will follow."

"We'll see what information he's got before we try our magic on her."

Ouji inhaled sharply and Yin suddenly turned.

"I don't know why we're allowing them so much time," Yang complained sourly, and then noticed that his sister's attention was diverted. "Sister?"

Yin walked over to the window and opened the shutters to peer outside, gazing intently as if she had her sight. Ouji held his breath and wiped his mind of all thoughts like Kala had taught him years ago. The Truth-Seer, however, wasn't so easily deceived. Letting down her hood so that her long, black hair could tumble out, Yin pulled back her braid and turned her ear towards the window. After a moment of silence, she stood back and regarded her brother with a curious look.

"It's nothing," she said dismissively, walking back around the desk. "I think it's time we have a proper visit with our old friends here—find out if the little waterbender is talking."

With that, the twins swiftly exited Kenzo's office. The moment the door closed, Ouji quickly descended the tower. His mind was a single train of thought: hide the scrolls and get back to his cell. But where could he hide them without Kenzo or his men finding them? There was one hiding place he used, the Painted Lady's cell, but he dared not go there in case they found him and what else he had stored there. He needed another place, and fast.

Dropping to the ground, Ouji took out the structural-geographical map and gave it a quick glance. Following the faded lines with his finger, he stopped as a puzzled look crossed his features. There was a secret passageway that led behind the interrogation cells and outside. Ouji smiled. There was a vent that led straight to it.

Carefully opening the door and sneaking back inside, Ouji made his way along the shadowed walls to the nearest vent. He didn't have a lot of time, so he'd have to move quickly. Shimmying down the vent, he worked his way east and downwards, keeping as close to the perimeter of the vents as possible lest he fall off a blind landing.

When he finally reached the end, he lowered himself down until his feet touched solid ground. He stood still for a moment and listened for sound, any sound, and bent a small flame in his palm. He glanced down the dark, deserted hallway. It was cold and drafty, reminding him of the coolers, and that's when he knew he was just above them, near the interrogation cells.

He navigated down the hallway until he reached the end and began to look for a spot to safely store his contraband. Finding a loose rock, he began to push on it until he felt the grinding click of a hidden compartment being opened. He traced his fingers along the invisible seams and was about to push harder when he heard a voice—a woman's voice softly crying out.

Ouji stilled, belly flat against the stone wall, and held his breath. He waited. A long silence hung in the damp, musty air that seemed to last for minutes until it was interrupted by a quiet, raspy voice, speaking in a language that Ouji didn't understand. He could hear Katara's muffled reply in the same alien tongue that somehow seemed familiar yet not. Ouji wanted nothing more than to barge in there somehow and beat the assassin senseless, but he couldn't. The Truth-Seers were on their way and he had little time to return to his cell. He would have to have his revenge on the assassin another day.

Cursing to himself, Ouji tucked the scrolls into the false compartment and started to make his way back to the vent. Silence filled the air once more and the young man paused. Standing still, he tilted his head and strained his ears to hear something, anything. But when the silence was finally broken, it was shattered by the sound of Katara's gentle sobs.

Downtrodden, Ouji's heart became leaden and he felt for the waterbender. Her sorrow was deafening. It reminded him of his mother.

* * *

**Author's notes: **I hope you enjoyed this brief interlude with the Blue Spirit, Ouji. If the first scene read odd, it's because it took place when Kage/Zuko first arrived at the prison; thus, the second scene took place directly after Ouji's first meeting with Katara from the previous chapter.

* * *

**Translations:**

*Fukumen is the black mask or veil that ninjas wear (Japanese).  
*Taizo (tie-zoh) is Japanese for _third son_.  
*Atsuo (at-soo-oh) is Japanese for _friendly man_.


	8. Ghosts of Ka'shi

HE HAD NEVER felt a woman so tight. It was taking all of his self-control not to come inside of her with every roll of his hips. But he resisted, for a while, transfixed by the smoothness of her labia and the way his cock had stretched her so far apart he was sure she would be spoiled for other men. She moulded against him perfectly, as though she were meant for him alone.

Grunting, he tilted his hips and sank so much farther into her that she had cried out in heady pleasure and pain. He could feel the head of his cock hitting her cervix and he knew he was so deep that it was probably uncomfortable for her now. Still, she did not resist; in fact, she begged for more.

"Zuko, _please_."

She had murmured his name so quietly in his ear that had anyone else been in the room they might have missed it. But Zuko had heard it and he moaned out, letting his head hang back with the pure pleasure of it. She was more than willing and that seemed to absolve him of all guilt . . . for the time-being.

He guided his hands around her waist and lifted her up onto his lap. Her muscles contract around his length, keeping him deep inside her so that his hot flesh could carve her open. Their foreheads touched for a moment, blood smearing across each other's flesh, and then his mouth found the pulse on her neck. She let out a throaty growl and reacted in kind, twitching inside her.

Leaning forward, Zuko lowered Katara onto her back, pulling out with a collective protest before rolling her onto her hands and knees. Their flesh scraped along the floor as he re-entered her from behind; her whimpering cries echoed throughout the chamber. She was already bucking her hips back into him, meeting his every thrust.

His fingers gathered her hair, yanking her head back as he arched himself into a different groove, impaling her deeper. It was then that he relinquished his mind completely, letting his baser instincts guides his movements. His hips, moving of their own accord, ground into her relentlessly, and he whispered her name into her shoulder. He shut his eyes, enjoying the sinful pleasure of it all. It was pure and wonderful abandon.

He leaned in closer, pressing her breasts into the floor, and her head fell forward as she began to come. His spine slipped forward as he thrust, his chin resting on the ball of her shoulder. He knew that he was making sounds, odd, animalistic sounds, but he couldn't help it. She had come all over his cock and it was so warm and wet that with only two more haphazard strokes of his hips he was coming into the tight clenching of her.

"Fuck!"

He titled his head back and semen burst out of him in almost painful ropes. He could feel it disappearing inside her and that thought alone made him weak and light-headed as he continued his release. He hadn't known he could have so much built up inside him, and he was almost certain that he was filling her to the brim. That was when his vision began to swim and everything went dark.

Zuko awoke seconds later to the sound of someone moaning. Katara was lying on her side, spooning into him with his thickness still buried deep inside her. His chin was tucked into the crook of her neck and his arm was draped protectively over her waist. She was juddering gently, her muscles still contracting around his shrinking length.

He wasn't going to ask her what was wrong. A part of him wanted to but he dismissed the thought. He already knew what was wrong; she was engaged, he was married, they were friends. He didn't need her to vocalise his shame and dishonour. Instead, he took in a shaky breath and she stirred against him.

"You passed out," he murmured sleepily into her hair. So had he, but he didn't need to admit that.

Katara sat up half-way with her back facing him, and somehow he couldn't help but morbidly think of how magnificent she looked in that moment. Her hair was snarled and matted with blood; her bottom lip was chapped and bloodied; her eyes were swollen and red-rimmed with tears. She looked like a blood-stained goddess returned from battle. Beautiful.

He sat up with her and looked down at their joined bodies; their sweat and fluids had combined with the blood, painting them both of them an odd, streaky pink. Without warning, she slipped off him and hissed at the sensation, while Zuko held in a moan, flushing a bright pink before looking away. His mouth was a hard line of embarrassment.

It wasn't supposed to feel this good. She wasn't supposed to feel this good. It was all supposed to be routine and perfunctory, an act for the guards outside to hear and a truth to tell the inquisition when they interrogated him afterwards. But now everything had become . . . complicated.

"I will _not_ regret this," Katara whispered, and Zuko's eyes widened.

His stomach clenched painfully, as if he was going to be sick. She wasn't supposed to be comforting him now. This was all so wrong. The words he wanted to say to comfort her, the heartfelt apologies, wouldn't come; they refused. How could he look at her now and not feel shame?

"Kala has been teaching me how to resist the twins' psionic probing without being obvious about it."

She reached for her discarded tunic and a hiss of pain escaped her lips as she moved. Zuko's hand was instantly on her hip but she gently shook it off and rolled over onto her knees to stand. She limped over to where the rest of her clothes lay and Zuko winced. There was a thin sliver of blood trickling down her inner right thigh, and he was suddenly assaulted with a sickening thought: how rough had he been with her?

Everything had happened so quickly and primal instinct had taken over. All he remembered was using her body to gratify his own sexual desires. But right now, _after the fact_, all he wanted to do was take away her pain. He wanted to beg for her forgiveness, to ask for a pardon she had already so willingly granted him.

"I might have a way to break us all out of here by the full moon."

She stood with her back to him, slowly getting dressed, and Zuko's chest and back tightened in pain. He grimaced, tried to open his mouth to say something, anything, but couldn't. There was nothing he could say, no words to comfort her.

Zuko stood to his feet and gathered his discarded clothes from the floor, pulling on his trousers in a perfunctory stupor. Grunting as he bent over, he closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing. Even with his eyes closed he could still picture Katara standing naked before him, painted with their blood and now his semen, breathing heavily as she watch him get dressed.

He finished fastening his belt when Katara turned around and took a step towards him, holding out his swords. Wordlessly, he took them, making sure not to make eye contact. The guilt of tasting her, of enjoying her, had registered on his face like a banner of shame and he could no longer avoid his disgrace.

"I'm sorry, Katara," he rasped, finally lifting his chin to meet her gaze.

Her eyes were soft and kind, far from judging, and he felt his shame rise. He swallowed the painful lump in his throat and looked away. He had to. Could she truly see past his sins and not only forgive him but accept him back into her arms as her friend?

"I know, Zuko." She placed a small hand on his shoulder. "But we had to do this. We had no other choice." She offered him a tired smile and her morning-blue eyes lost some of their edge. "I don't regret what you have done for me—to keep me safe and alive."

His shoulders slumped forward. "Right," he muttered, looking anywhere but at her. None of this was right. He deserved to be punished, to be hated like he hated himself. How could she smile at him? Was this the divine face of forgiveness? "So what's this plan of yours?"

"First we're going to have to give the Truth-Seers something—one of the secret locations they have you interrogating me about."

"How about the location of my—the Fire Lord's—underground bunker?" Katara nodded at this but Zuko suddenly frowned. "But how are we going to convince them that this wasn't an act? How are we going to merge fantasy with reality and make them believe it?"

He picked up his silver skull mask and slipped it on. Katara reached out and touched the cool metal before drawing her hand away.

"I'll show you how." She lowered her arms to her sides. "And after that we need to start discussing a way to get out of here."

Zuko sat down on the table and listened—listened as Katara began to instruct him on how to protect himself against the twins. He would follow her words and do whatever it took to keep her safe. At the very least, he owed her that.

**.**

**.**

**.**

ZUKO AWOKE WITH a start. He didn't remember coming back to his room let alone leaving the interrogation cell.

He reached up to run a hand through his fringe when his fingertips touched cool metal. He was still wearing his mask—the half-grinning silver monstrosity that continuously mocked what little progress he had made since leaving behind the mask of the Blue Spirit. With just one order he had shattered his integrity, violated a woman he respected and quite possibly severed the friendships of people he held more dearly than family.

How could Aang ever possibly forgive him? How could he forgive himself?

_I will not regret this_, Katara had whispered to him, or herself. But could he believe her? Did she really absolve him of all sins? Could she possibly forget what he had done to her, regardless of whether or not his hand was forced?

"Assassin," a guard called from outside his door. "The Truth-Seers are here. They wish to speak with you."

Zuko's hands curled into fists, knuckling the mattress beneath him. Of course they'd be here right now; it was the most inopportune time for him to meet them, what with thoughts of Katara and his own guilty conscience troubling his soul. Relaxing his muscles, he emptied his mind of all thoughts, storing memories in the well of his subconscious like Katara had instructed him. He wouldn't let the twins defeat him like this. He would finally protect Katara—a small gesture for the pain he had already caused.

He barely spoke the words to permit the Truth-Seers entrance when they quietly glided into the room. Brother and sister waltzed inside with unbridled confidence, their elegant movements belying their sightless eyes. Zuko couldn't help but tense at their appearance. His right hand dropped instinctively to retrieve the hidden shurikens from his sleeve, fingering the blades as though they were his life-line.

Neither twin seemed to notice nor care for his unease as Yang led Yin to the bench to sit. Zuko studied their appearance and dress. Both wore matching garb, Fifth Column vestments, yet nothing about their appearance was ordinary. The siblings shared similar features—narrow, almost beautiful faces—and carried themselves with a supreme arrogance befitting the noble-born. Yin especially stood out with her long hair and unnerving smile. At times Zuko found himself oddly reminded of his sister's hauteur.

Out of the two, Yin was definitely the most gifted Seer and probably the most dangerous; however, Yang was not without his means of intimidation. His presence alone radiated raw power. Despite his somewhat slender build, Yang's graceful frame seemed to burst with precise strength and lethal quickness. Zuko found himself wondering if this blind man was as skilled in physical combat as he was with raping someone's mind. He hoped he wouldn't find out any time soon.

Zuko collected his thoughts and took his fingers off the shurikens. He did not wish to arouse their suspicion, although he suspected they already knew he was armed and dangerous, though not remotely as dangerous as them. But still the twins did not speak, and because of that Zuko could not relax. He peered warily through the still-open door into the hallway beyond, looking to see who might be lurking in the shadows, listening.

At that moment Yin reached over to grab her brother's hand, cocking her head slightly to one side as though listening to some far away conversation. But Zuko knew the truth; she was tuning into the sound of his breathing and the beating of his heart, and soon she would be invading his mind, picking it apart until he had surrendered everything.

When the mental invasion happened, it happened quickly. It started off as a pinch and then a searing hot pain as Yin effortlessly sliced into his mind. Yang joined her shortly thereafter and the pain lessened somewhat, overtaken by a new sensation. Cold, misty tendrils searched through his mind like fingers not so delicately sifting through the files of his memories.

_Tell me your secrets_, whispered Yin's voice inside Zuko's mind. _Did you ravage the waterbender?_

A brief image of Katara crying as he thrust into her flitted through his mind, followed by the added memory of her confessing the location of the Fire Lord's bunker. The memories were being extracted without his consent, but he didn't try to top them or take the memories back. He would let them have their _answers_. He would let them violate his mind.

_Did you enjoy her, Assassin?_

Yang laughed cruelly, his grip tightening on his sister's hand, and Zuko's reply was a burst of anger and disgust that no words could convey. And suddenly their laughter stopped. The siblings withdrew from his mind and Yin turned towards Yang, a content and smug expression on her face.

"He did as he was instructed, Brother." Her sightless eyes bored into Zuko's now and he felt ill. "He claimed her, broke her and managed to get an answer: the whereabouts of Fire Lord Zuko's bunker."

Yang gave a curt nod, removing his hand from his sister's. "It's almost time to question her ourselves, wouldn't you say?"

Yin flicked her tongue along her incisor and grinned wolfishly. "Soon, Brother. Kage-san seems to be rather successful with his extraction methods. I think he could get us information on the whereabouts of the Avatar, if he was given more time with the girl. This waterbender seems to truly _respond_ to him. Wouldn't you agree?"

Yang closed his eyes and Zuko felt a sudden tug at the back of his mind. A memory rose to the surface, Katara clawing at his back out as he slid in and out of her, and he couldn't find the ability to snatch it back before it escaped the well of his mind. Yang smirked, snorting derisively before opening his eyes.

"I agree, Sister. The assassin has become the perfect interrogator."

Yin placed her hand on her brother's knee and pushed herself up to her feet, slowly striding over to where Zuko sat. Startled, he drew back. His fingers were already gripping the metal shurikens again, instinct taking over. Yin smiled, as if sensing his unease, and reached out with her hands to touch his mask.

"We have another task for you, Interrogator." Her voice was soft and soothing, like a velvety purr. "Something far more important than extracting the Avatar's location."

He could feel her fingers slide off his mask and angle towards his temples, and his eyelids began to droop close. Yin's voice droned on in his subconscious, her words losing all meaning and clarity, and he suddenly felt light. He was more relaxed and calm than he had ever been, but something wasn't right. He was losing all control.

Katara had taught him how to ward the Truth-Seers against delving further into that metaphorical well of his memories, from seeing all that there was to see, but warding could not keep out what was already there. It could not prevent him from confronting his own haunted past.

Soon everything had become twisted, the wrong colours, as though something had gone askew with his eyes. His memories and his mind became inverted, shifting into something entirely different, surreal. It was as though he was looking into a mirror with an infinite number of mirrors inside; each reflection was a different part of himself, all with their own voices. Part of him wanted to make love to Katara again. Part of him wanted to save her from himself. Part of him wanted to end it all.

There were so many parts of him now. His was a mind splintered into many glittering shards . . . and they were all screaming.

**.**

**.**

**.**

ZUKO'S SOFT FOOTFALLS echoed in hallway after empty hallway as he made his way down to the interrogation floor.

At odd intervals he passed pairs of scowling guards in Fifth Column uniform, and he absently wondered if they ever tired of staring at the blank stone walls in the course of their duties. It was not likely since they were trained to be insensitive to that sort of thing; however, the moment the assassin came into view, their scowls immediately vanished and their backs straightened.

Not bothering to acknowledge them, Zuko carried on down the stairs to the end of the hall where Katara was being kept. He idly knuckled a shuriken from finger to finger as he slowly approached two Fifth Columnists standing on either side of the cell door. The guards drew themselves up to full height and warily eyed the blade in the assassin's hand before stepping aside to permit him entrance. Slipping the shuriken back up his sleeve, Zuko let himself inside the room and closed the door behind him.

Katara was seated in the only chair in the room, with her hands tied behind her back. Zuko immediately took the waterskin hidden underneath his shirt and placed it on the table before walking behind Katara and undoing her bonds. The waterbender rubbed the circulation back into her wrists before reaching forward to grab the waterskin and uncorking it, tipping it back to her greedy mouth.

"I haven't much time with you today," Zuko spoke softly in perfect Southern Water Tribe dialect. "I have a meeting with Kenzo to inform him of the location of Fire Lord Zuko's bunker."

Katara choked on the water and began sputtering, which quickly evolved into a brief coughing fit. Once done, she sat up and wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. Capillaries had burst just beneath the skin of her cheeks, colouring them a dark rose.

"You okay?"

"I-I'm f-fine," she sputtered, coughing once more before quickly changing the topic. "I spoke with Ouji earlier this morning and he said he left the journals he'd stolen in here somewhere—behind a lose chunk of masonry." She set down the waterskin and glanced about the room. "He said it was some kind of hidden compartment."

Katara got up and focussed on the bare stone walls of the cell while Zuko inspected the room with his own keen eyes, pacing to the other side of the chamber. After a minute of searching, he spied a chunk of stone slightly darker than the rest and bent down to inspect. Squatting on his haunches, he put a gloved hand to the rough surface and traced the raised edges before placing his fingers in the middle and pressing inwards. There was a soft click and the sound of grinding rock as the stone opened up to reveal a small compartment.

"Here it is."

"What's that?" Katara peered over his shoulder as he unfurled a scroll.

"It looks like a map of the prison." Zuko quickly pored over the map and his mouth tightened. "And maybe something else."

"A way off this island?"

"I'm not sure." He paused, following his finger along a lined route. "But this looks like a secret entrance to an underground tunnel just below the prison itself that leads under the hills. It looks like there are two entrances. One of them might lead out to the sea." He turned to glance up at Katara. "This could be our way out of here."

"Or it could lead to some bone-crushing trap," she retorted dryly, kneeling beside him before retrieving a dusty journal. "Let's see if this mentions anything."

As Katara began to skim through the journal, Zuko stood up and placed the scroll on the table where there was more light. Spreading it out across so that it was flat, he began to study the map more intently.

"Do you see anything about Hama?"

"No, not yet." She turned another page. "I wish we had more time to go over this."

"Take it with you, then."

"I can't. They'll search me once they put me back in my cell." She lifted the journal and offered it to him. "You take it."

Zuko shook his head and began to roll up the scroll. "A journal that size would stick out, and I already have a hard enough time concealing that." He pointed at the waterskin on the table and Katara offered him a sheepish grin.

"Right. Thanks for this, by the way."

He nodded. "I should get going to Kenzo's office now." He gripped the scroll tightly before tucking it into his belt. "I'll take the map with me. It's much easier to conceal."

"I'll get Ouji to come back for this after dinner." Katara held up the thick journal. "I'll look over it and see if it mentions anything about Hama's escape."

As Katara continued to read, Zuko picked up the waterskin and carefully placed it inside his shirt before turning around to regard Katara's seated form. Leaning back against the table, he began to think. Even though they were making progress with their plan to escape, Zuko couldn't shake the troubling feeling that everything was slipping away from him.

"I was interrogated by the twins."

Katara suddenly spun around, the journal forgotten in her hands. "Oh?" She swallowed hard. "Did—did they suspect anything?"

"No, but they want me to 'interrogate' you again—for Aa—for the Avatar's whereabouts."

"I see." Katara calmly nodded. "Is that it?"

Zuko pushed himself off the table. "They'll probably talk to you soon, maybe even today. Tomorrow I'm supposed to—" he made futile hand gestures before lowering his head in embarrassment "—yeah."

"It's all right, Zuko. I understand." Katara offered him a small smile. "And I don't blame you."

Zuko's hands started to shake. She was comforting him. This wasn't how things were supposed to turn out. With an angry snarl, he spun around and kicked the wooden chair behind him, splintering it into three.

"No, it's not all right! I came here to protect you! Not _this_!" He raised a gloved hand to his face and sighed. "Not like this."

Moments later, he felt thin arms circle his waist and he lowered his head to see Katara's cheek resting against his chest. After everything he had done to her, why was she so quick to forgive him, to comfort him?

"You risked your life to come after me," she whispered, tightening her hold on him. "You're still risking it. And no matter what they make you do, you'll _always_ be my friend."

When Katara glanced up at him, Zuko felt a lump form at the back of his throat. His thumbs instinctively went to her cheeks, wiping away her tears, and she smiled once more before tucking her head back into his chest. His arms circled her back and they embraced each other this way for little more than a moment before parting.

Katara stepped away first and wiped at her tear-stained cheeks. She walked over to the secret compartment and picked up the journal to place it back inside, but then abruptly stopped. The book was still open in her hand and she waved the other hand excitedly.

"Come here! There's something written about the Painted Lady."

"What is it?"

"I'm not sure. The ink's faded." Katara traced her finger over the worn page. "It says something about a royal burial chamber and—" she glanced up at Zuko with wide eyes "—and a volcano?"

Zuko blinked, nonplussed. "A volcano?"

"There's an emblem here." She pointed at the page. "It looks somewhat familiar. Take a look."

Zuko leaned over and followed Katara's finger to the illustration. The image of the emblem itself was faded but Zuko could make out enough of the intricate lines and symbols to know that it didn't represent the Sun Warrior Kingdom but the Fire Nation—and it was royalty.

"What kind of prisoner was this Painted Lady?"

"I don't know," Zuko rasped lowly, "but I'm going to find out."

"Zuko?"

"If it's a royal burial chamber, then there might be something there we can use or maybe even an underground passage to the ocean."

"Might be?" Katara closed the journal and put it back inside the compartment, locking the stone into pace. "What about this volcano?"

"Underwater volcanoes are not uncommon, and it explains the desert climate of this particular island."

"Great, but I don't like the idea of you travelling underground passages that might lead into a volcano." Worry was etched across her face. "You could get hurt."

"I'll be careful." He waved his hand in a dismissive manner. "The Sun Warrior Kingdom was notorious for hiding things. Who's to say that some hidden passage underneath the city wasn't the key to Hama's escape?"

"Who's to say it wasn't?" Katara worried her bottom lip with her teeth. "Look, why don't we wait until I read the rest of this journal or for Ouji to steal us some more maps? Or take Ouji with you. He knows this place better than you."

Zuko shook his head. "We don't have the luxury of time here. I need to scout the area myself. I can't wait for _possible_ fortune to fall into our laps." He offered her a reassuring smile, one which she could not see under the mask. "Besides, I need to investigate the Truth-Seers' ship and see if it's still out there. It may be our only means to get off this island."

Katara let out a defeated sigh and shook her head. "Okay, but you better be careful."

"I will." He placed a hand on her shoulder. "You stay safe, and be on your guard."

He would find the answers they sought, and he would get them off this cursed island.

**.**

**.**

**.**

ZUKO SURVEYED THE land from his perch on the stone tower. A pale light flickered in the distance out at sea. Perhaps it was a ship docked at the harbour. Though his sight was often commented on being borderline unnatural, he couldn't see in the dark. But then Zuko wasn't out here to make an escape for the ocean; he was here to test how accurate the map was.

The old map highlighted a secret passage just outside the prison walls not far from where he stood. The grounds of the prison itself, however, were built atop the ancient city of Ka'shi and were currently being patrolled by Fifth Column guards. In order to avoid detection, Zuko would have to time his movements just right.

Drawing in a deep breath, he made his way down the tower and waited as the courtyard fell silent. The moon was more than three-quarters full in the night sky, and soft shafts of moonlight sliced through the darkness of the ruined court from crumbling embrasures in the high walls. The compound, however, was not as desolate as one would think. The furtive sounds of small creatures scrambling across the sand and rubble could be faintly heard in the distance.

A scrabbling sound accompanied with the soft thud of boots on stone caught Zuko's attention and he withdrew softly into the shadows, waiting patiently as a small squad of guards marched past. Zuko had studied the patrols from his precarious perch for more than an hour, carefully timing their sweeps in order to calculate the best time to make his way over the wall and to the underground passage. The guards were as routine as they were predictable, and when they finally passed by he launched himself over the prison wall and into the vast darkness, plunging through the eternal night.

His footfalls fell silent and heavy on the sand. The endless black gale that shrieked up the dusty streets of the valley welcomed Zuko's return to the desert with a barrage of gusts so powerful that he was almost rocked off his feet. Gathering his footing, he ran towards the location he had studied so intently on the map only hours earlier. He was glad to have his hood and mask as a dark cloud of sand blasted him from side to side in its never-relenting assault. It would have been easier had he found an access to the underground city from inside the prison itself, but when he had tried the secret passage it was blocked off from a cave-in that had most likely occurred a hundred years ago.

Counting his paces, Zuko hoped that the entrance was where the map said it would be. It was far too hazardous to light a flame lest the guards sighted it, so he had to travel blindly. Though the lit torches lining the wall from the prison and the moon above offered some light, it was hard to place markers in endless desert sand.

When he counted the last step, he turned around and glanced about. How was he supposed to locate the entrance? There was only sand below his feet. Was he expected to dig through it? Maybe he should have taken that Water Tribe boy with him like Katara had suggested.

Frustrated, Zuko was about to drop to his knees and dig when the sandstorm suddenly shifted. He raised a hand to shield his eyes and waited for the storm to pass. When it did, the wind had swept away the sand covering a small alcove to his right. He immediately ran underneath it for shelter and to hide himself from the patrol that was about to circle back.

Pulling out the scroll, he began to unfurl the map to study it once more. The entrance had to be here. Was it really underneath all that sand? How would he clear it in time before the next patrol came by? He couldn't rely on another sandstorm to conceal him, so he calculated the distance and direction once more before turning around. And that was when it slowly registered: the alcove was the entrance!

Zuko slipped off his gloves and began to feel the cool rock wall with his bare hands. He was searching for a panel or a hinge, anything that could resemble an opening. His adroit fingers eventually found a seam along the side at least five feet in height. It was a door. With no handle or latch, Zuko braced his stance and began to push with all his might.

The door was solid and completely resistant. Zuko couldn't budge it in the slightest, no matter how hard he pushed. Pulling back, he rested his shoulder against the stone and caught his breath. His muscles were aching hot with exertion. He turned around and glanced up at the top of the door, moving his fingers over the rough stone. The rock above the door was different, smoother than the rest, but still raised. It felt as though there were a series of symbols carved in the stone, but it was too dark for him to decipher anything and it was too dangerous for him to light a flame in the open.

Feeling around some more, Zuko found a circular stone that resembled a button and pressed it. There was a clicking sound, like a latch disengaging, and he tried his hand at the door again. With a little resistance, it finally pushed opened.

A blast of stale air hit him in the face and he coughed. Putting his gloves back on, Zuko deliberately stepped inside, oblivious to the black curtains of cobwebs that danced and writhed on top of his head. He shut the stone door behind him, leaving it a quarter of the way open should he have to return the same way. The maddening howl of the endless sandstorms raging outside was replaced with another sound, like air being funnelled through a draft, and Zuko wondered where exactly this underground tunnel led.

Bending a ball of flame in his palm, he held it aloft to study the entranceway. The opening was low and narrow, but as he progressed along the path widened, opening out into a more spacious passage. The walls that lined the way were smooth and hard, harder than normal stone. He brought the light closer to inspect where he made out intricate paintings and symbols etched in what looked to be a semi-metallic surface. The arcane and intricate stonework sort of reminded him of the temple of the Western Sun Kingdom, but at the same time it was also different.

Very different.

This wasn't just some tunnel. It appeared to have been built long before the Fire Nation settled on the island. The arrangement itself looked as though the city of Ka'shi was built atop another infinitely older structure, one rich in metals, or perhaps on top of another city. A foetid odour hung in the air, and he wrinkled his nose. Whatever the original purpose this city served, he did not know, for now it only seemed to house darkness and foul winds emitting from some unknown, unplumbed abyss.

He continued down the dark path until he reached a set of stairs descending into what felt like a cavern or a deep tomb. He circled downwards for a few minutes until the stairs levelled out and reached ground. The room opened out into a sort of cavern with impossibly high ceilings and hanging stalactites that dripped water.

Shadows cast from the fire onto the rough walls seemed as though they were separate, living entities; inky pools of midnight that curled and flowed from wall to wall as he moved. The whispering darkness slithered like a dragon in and about the needle-like spires that hung from above, threatening to swallow him whole until the cavern opened up into an even larger space with a naturally formed archway and a network of criss-crossing passages that rose above a gaping chasm below.

Zuko's feet faltered on the path and a loose stone fell off the precipice into the black pit below. After a minute, when he didn't hear the stone land, Zuko felt his stomach drop out. Katara had been right to tell him to be careful. The underbelly of the city was like a jutting bulwark of stone that seemed to thrust out from a wall above a vast, lightless chasm. However, not everything was pitch-black; from the unfathomable metres below came a soft, orange glow, lighting the cavern with eerie colours.

The chasm itself appeared to be a venting shaft from the volcano deep beneath the ocean's floor. Unlike the smaller shafts that lined the rest of the underground passages, this one had broken off, creating the deep crater. Above the near-bottomless pit but below the turrets and haunting spires was a sort of an archway, a bridge that boldly leaned out over the horrifying precipice.

Though daunting as the scene was, the bowels of this forgotten city did not seem frail or precarious in any sense. Its massive pier of molten rock was like the bones of the world—a thick spar rooted so securely in the chasm wall that nothing short of the gods themselves could tear it loose. Though this was hardly a comforting thought when standing directly above the subterranean furnace.

Zuko enlarged the flame in his palm and glanced around the massive room before letting out a frustrated sigh. The underground network was far larger, intricate and vastly more dangerous than he had originally predicted. He had only a few days to reconnoitre the various crevices and caves that tunnelled the underground city of Ka'shi and he could never be sure if one of these passages would lead to the ocean or to his end.

Picking the path directly in front of him, he made his way towards what he hoped was a route to the sea. As he advanced farther, the ceiling lowered and the air grew thick. The heat was becoming unbearable now and his feet crunched underneath an ashy snow. He stopped, crouching low in the thick embrace of sulphur and ash that crept upwards from the yawning mouth of the chasm.

He tried hard not to draw breath, despite the fact that he panted for air. His skin burned as if liquid fire had been poured over his body and the scar on his left eye began to tingle with nostalgia. To stay where he was invited nothing less than a slow, agonising death, but the vapours clung to his limbs like soft grey hands, impeding his every movement.

He took a breath through his mask, which filtered some of the poisonous gas, and forced himself to turn back and take a higher route out. Needles of hot pain filled his throat and his vision swam. Disoriented, he climbed higher, unable to remember the path he had original came from. Suddenly his vision began to clear and the sound of running water whispered in his ear. He briefly entertained the notion that he had gone mad and was hearing things. But as he climbed higher, the noise intensified.

Jumping from one path onto the next one higher up, Zuko followed the sound until he discovered a winding pathway that led into an entirely different cavern. The temperature was decidedly cooler here and far removed from the scorching furnace he had been standing above only moments earlier.

As he walked towards the sound of rushing water, the cave suddenly opened up to reveal a deep pool with a series of fresh water springs spilling into it. It looked to be a retaining pool of sorts. With a fresh water spring running so close to a volcano, he wondered how this island did not have hot springs. But the water seemed cool and definitely wasn't sea water by the smell of it. Somehow the springs ran separate from the volcano shafts, giving the island pure, cool drinking water.

Zuko raised the flame in his palm high above the pool where he could see another set of ascending stairs behind it. He made his way across the cavern floor, which was littered with ancient pottery and large pails that must have been used to carry the water above. There was no doubt that this was where the city retrieved its fresh water. The stairs must have been the exit back out onto the desert.

He took two steps at time, climbing until he surfaced into a narrow passageway partially blocked with broken columns. He manoeuvred his way around the crumbling stones and entered a large hall. Taking off his mask and hood, he inhaled the stale but sulphur-free air. He glanced up and saw several ornate sconces hanging on the walls and he lit them all with a flick of his wrist.

With the added light, he could see that the majority of the room had caved in, including a door that possibly led directly over top of the chasm. The room itself was large and spacious, like a dining hall, and looked as though it had once been poshly decorated, long ago. But upon closer inspection, Zuko realised he had been wrong to suspect it was some grand hall or atrium. Instead, it appeared to be a mausoleum.

It was the royal burial chamber he had been looking for.

Tucking his mask and hood into his belt, Zuko began to perambulate around the room. The tiles beneath his feet, which had likely once been a rose-coloured marble, were now cracked and split, carpeted with gritty sand let in from the open shafts from above. Though this was definitely a burial chamber, Zuko could not spy any sarcophagi resting inside.

He then spotted what looked to be a narrow opening and squeezed through after extinguishing the flame. In the middle of the much smaller room was a single slab of what looked to be metal mixed with the same rose-coloured marble. He circled the rectangular rock with interest, feeling a warm breeze waft in from above. There was a familiar, intricate symbol carved into the marble—the same design Katara had shown him in the journal, except here it wasn't nearly as faded.

The emblem itself was the same size as his hand and he instinctively placed his palm to it. There was no date below it, just the kanji of a family name, and Zuko felt his heart plummet into his stomach. Dropping to his knees, he traced his gloved fingers along the name carved into the stone and sucked in a hitching breath.

"Mother?"


	9. The Painted Lady

KATARA HAD FORGOT about her task the moment the guards threw her into her cell. All she could think of was sleep.

The sound of sandstorms gusting outside served as a lullaby, gently lulling. She could spare a few moments for rest, she thought. Zuko would come for her, or Ouji. The young man was bound to wake her up for dinner. Or was it past dinner time now? She couldn't tell and she couldn't be bothered to open her eyes and look out the window. Instead, sleep overtook her and her thoughts slipped out of time.

Dreams came swiftly—of huge white things like giant bird-wings but without the bird, sailing across the sky; of great cities with impossibly tall buildings, shining in the sun with shapes like beetles and flattened waterdrops speeding along the streets.

Somehow it all seemed familiar yet not, and she wished to dive down on these giant wings to better see the landscape below. But suddenly the wings she laid upon faltered and each white feather began to fall, hurtling to the ground like pointed swords. Buildings shattered like glass, fires erupted from below, and the land itself heaved like storm-tossed seas.

Sand rained down like water, covering the buildings and temples—temples older than time itself. The sky darkened, an inverted sea of sluggish ashen waves crashing around the mountain's peaks. Below, odd lights flashed across the now-ruined valley; washed-out blues and reds that failed to dispel the dusky murk that shrouded their source.

Lightening streaked _up_ at the clouds and thunder roared, seeming to shake the entire foundation of the world on its axis. Across the slope of shattered domes, steam and smoke rose from scattered vents shaped like craters. Red-hot liquid erupted from below the surface, oozing down the rocky inclines of mortar. It spilt red like blood, inky rivulets that soon dried up the land until there was nothing left.

Katara woke in darkness of her cell, sweating and shaking. She brought a hand to her chest and tried to still the erratic beatings of her heart. It was as though she had been dreaming someone else's dream, an entire nation's. The thought worried her stomach and fuzzied her brain. This place might have finally broken her and here she was, circling the drain of insanity. She wasn't sure how much more she could endure.

Pale beams of moonlight filtered in through the window above and Katara sat up. How long had she been asleep? She glanced down and saw a tray of food beside her mat. Ouji must have dropped it off. Why didn't he wake her? More importantly, where was Zuko? Why wasn't he back yet? Had something happened to him?

Clutching at her stomach, which rumbled in nervous apprehension, Katara suddenly felt nauseated. She didn't know what she would do if something happened to Zuko. She would be alone again, without hope, and that terrified her beyond measure. Alone, then she would truly be broken.

"Zuko, where are you?"

"Shouldn't you be calling for your fiancé?" a feminine voice spoke, and Katara jumped in her seat.

The cell door opened and a pair of slender figures slipped through before the door slammed shut again. Veiled in long dark cloaks, the visitors paused to study Katara for a moment. The smaller of the two reached up to pull back her hood, revealing a long, thick braid of ebony and a gleaming face of marble.

"Yes," the man next to her agreed, also lowering his hood. "One would wonder why you call for the Fire Lord and not the Avatar."

Katara's stomach twisted in knots. Yin and Yang were in her cell and they were going to invade her mind. This was the moment she had been dreading. She wasn't sure if she was even in the right mind to handle their interrogation. Her thoughts were too focussed on Zuko.

"Are you here to kill me?" There was unmistakable defiance in her tone, but underneath that was a layer of uncertainty and numb fear.

There was no way they could believe that she was already broken, yet why else would they be there to pick apart her memories? Was she no longer of any use to them? Were they here to kill her?

Katara fought to control her bottom lip from trembling. She didn't want to die, not here, not like this. If this was going to be her end, then she would make it such an end to be worthy of her title as Master Waterbender. She would go out fighting and she would take these devils with her.

Immediately shifting into an offensive stance, Katara lifted her hands and pointed her fingers with deadly accuracy. She would bend the Truth-Seers' blood in an instance. It would end any hope for her escape, but at least she would buy Zuko some time and give him a fighting chance.

"Do not bother, Master Katara," Yin said, raising a delicate hand in the air. "We are not here to hurt you. We only wish to take a peek inside your mind."

"Just to corroborate Kage-san's version of events," Yang added. "We will not push any further. We do not wish to kill you . . . _yet_."

Katara swallowed dryly and lowered her hands a fraction of an inch. She wasn't completely convinced of their intentions but she knew she hadn't given them all the information they wanted. If she died now, that information would die with her.

"Please, sit." Yin motioned to the mat on the floor. "We will make this as quick and painless as possible.

Katara highly doubted that as she looked back and forth between the twins. She glanced at the bed and nodded curtly. Quick and easy would be best. But could she trust them? Had what she learnt from Kala allow her to keep her memories safe?

Lowering her guard, Katara turned and sat down. She eyed the siblings warily as they walked over to where she sat. Both slowly knelt down on either side of her and Katara's anxiety grew. She tried to even out her breathing, to appear less terrified than she actually was. The twins withdrew their slender arms from their sleeves and linked hands. With their free hands they reached out to place two fingers on either side of Katara's temples. Closing their milky-coloured eyes, both Truth-Seers took in a deep collective breath and waited.

Katara could feel the cold touch of their fingers on her skin and she shuddered. Closing her own eyes, she waited for the black and terrible emotions to come to her like some beast out of the night. But they did not come. Instead, her bowels seemed weighted with lead and she felt a sort of lethargy linger in her limbs.

Her ears rang with persecuted laughter and she tried to shut it out, replacing it with something else—something from a time long past. A woman's voice. A song sung long ago. Her mother's song.

This song was inside her now, although it was not music but only the feeling of a song. As the tears began to flow freely, this new sodden heaviness of peace weighed down her limbs so strongly now that only her mother's voice alone could move her. But why did she go onwards towards this voice? Why did she not resist, turn back or at least rest here upon the bottom of utmost contentment?

No, she had to go towards the sound of the voice. She had to see her mother. She had to keep going.

Suddenly the walls of her cell started to close in and her thoughts became white, not black, descending not into the depths of a bottomless chasm but floating on the edge of oblivion. There was an emptiness inside her now, a void, and it was spreading. She would not touch the solid bottom of her memories anymore. She would fade away from them until she could no longer see herself—until she could no longer _be_ herself.

And that was when her world went blank.

**.**

**.**

**.**

SUNRISE WAS SPLENDID and terrible. The stars paled in the rose-streaked sky as a frigid blast of desert wind slackened towards a fitful calm. Katara watched from behind her barred window, waiting for the sun to break over the horizon.

When the wind finally stopped and the sand settled, she could pick out the darker hills in the distance. Never had the sky been so clear before. When the sun finally rose, it was like a fountain of liquid gold exploding across the barren landscape. In the space of a second she was already blinded. She pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes that ached from that single brief glimpse, as if someone had shoved white hot daggers into her head.

"That was smart of me," she mumbled to herself, blinking back the dotted stars that crossed her vision.

It wasn't as though she would be able to see Zuko from her window. He was far more covert than simply roaming the desert in broad daylight. He had most likely already made it back to the prison late last night. But still she worried. Who knew what kind of danger he could have got himself into underneath the desert city.

Suddenly there was a noise above her and Katara glanced up and to the left. The vent high above the window opened and a familiar face peeked out.

"Hey!"

Ouji gave a slight wave before gracefully tumbling out of the vent. Katara still couldn't get over how nimble the boy was, and how he managed to contort himself into such small spaces. He sort of reminded her of a male version of Ty Lee. He even had the same upbeat attitude as the Fire Nation girl. Katara wondered if Ouji was skilled in pressure point attacks as well.

"I came to see you last night—" he handed her a waterskin "—but you were asleep."

Katara took the waterskin and drank greedily. "The twins interrogated me," she said between gulps. "I was exhausted."

"You're lucky to be alive." Ouji slipped off his satchel so that he could rummage around for Katara's breakfast.

"I guess so." She finished drinking and let the strap from the waterskin dangle from her fingers. "But the thing is, I-I can barely remember anything."

"You don't remember them interrogating you?" Katara shook her head and Ouji frowned, handing her a small wrap of rice. "You're going have to talk with Kala, then."

Katara took the proffered food and sat down on her mat. "She's not in her cell." She glanced up at Ouji, who was still resting on his haunches. "Do you know where she is?"

"She's been taken back to her own cell." He pointed up at the ceiling. "It's on the floor above."

"In the cell above mine?"

"No . . ." He paused thoughtfully. "That cell's empty."

Katara bit into her meal and chewed absently. Ouji folded up his satchel and looped the strap over his shoulder and back before standing up. As he made his way to the vent to leave, the thought that had been occupying Katara's mind all morning suddenly sprang to the surface.

"Ouji, could you tell me more about the Painted Lady?"

The young man stood still for a moment, no readable expression registering on his face. When a few seconds had passed and he didn't respond, Katara lowered her head.

"I'm sorry. I should have considered your feelings. It was wrong of me to ask such a bold question."

Ouji shook head and walked back over to her. "No, it's alright. I was just taken off guard is all. I'd like to tell you about my mother, Katara." A sad smile crossed his features, as though some fond memory had taken hold. "She was the kindest, gentlest person I ever knew. She raised me like her own, even though she had her own children."

"There were other children here?"

"No, my mother lost her children before she came to the prison. They were taken from her. Although I was only her adopted son, she always treated me like one of her own. I know you might think I'm biased since I never knew my parents, but because of her I know what unconditional love is. And I know that parents don't automatically love their child just because that child is their kin."

It was impossible to imagine a mother not loving her children unconditionally, but it was true. Katara wondered what kind of hell this Painted Lady suffered having her children taken away from her. Katara could only imagine. But she did know what it was like to have a mother taken away, and more than anyone else she knew the kind of pain that Ouji felt.

"You know that my father is a firebender, one of the Fifth Column guards?" Katara nodded. "What you don't know—" Ouji's countenance darkened "—is that he's still here."

"One of the guards here is your father?"

"No." Ouji smiled bitterly. "The warden is. Kenzo's my father."

"How—?"

"I discovered the truth when I was six or seven." Ouji laughed derisively. "Discovered—more like the bastard told me in a fit of rage when he caught me escaping the prison for the first time." He glanced down at his dark hands. "I tried to fight him but he burned me. He was so disgusted that I could not bend yet. He said I was worthless like my mother, the Water Tribe _whore_ who gave birth to me.

"I was so angry. How could someone like _him_ be my father? I had lost consciousness after the fight and I woke up in my mother's arms. She was comforting me. She told me that one cannot choose one's family. It is the will of the gods; some of us are fortunate while others are not. But one should never use that as an excuse to give up or to become the same monsters that torment us. And though the gods can be cruel, they can also offer us hope—the hope to strive, to become better people.

"She told me that bending doesn't make a man great. It's about what's in here that counts." He placed his hand over his heart. "A great man is noble, wise and patient. It's not brawn or fear that brings him respect but the ability to do what's right when everything is wrong, to make tough decisions in difficult times, to see beyond selfish desires and to carry on despite the pain." He glanced up at Katara and smiled. "Inner strength, that's what can move nations. And I didn't really understand what she meant back then, but now—now that I've met you, Katara, I think I know."

Katara gave Ouji a small smile and averted her eyes, suddenly feeling quite shy. Even after all these years she still couldn't see her role in the war as something inspiring, not like Aang and Zuko's.

Her smile faltered. Where was Zuko? The guards hadn't come to retrieve her for interrogation last night or early this morning, and the twins had said nothing to her about Zuko—or the assassin, as they knew him. Or at least she thought they didn't. She could remember them coming into her cell and telling her that they weren't going to hurt her, but after that it was all blank.

What had happened? Why couldn't she remember?

Frustrated, Katara tore at her hair in impotent anger.

"Are you okay?" Ouji tentatively placed a hand on her shoulder and she stiffened. She must have looked out of sorts, clutching at her hair and muttering to herself as she was.

"I'm fine," she lied, trying to offer the young man a brave face. "I'm just trying to wrack my brain over what the twins interrogated me about."

Ouji's brow creased into a deep V. "I don't want to worry you, but that's probably not a good sign if you can't remember. You need to speak to Kala as soon as possible."

"But how?" Katara clutched at her head. "She's on an entirely different floor now."

"You leave that to me." He winked and walked back over to vent. "I'll go talk to her right after I deliver Chen his meal."

Katara took in a shaky breath and nodded. She'd feel better when she talked to Kala. She'd feel safer. Right now she felt naked and violated. And Zuko was missing. The latter thought made her feel utterly alone.

"Ouji, can you tell me why your mother was called the Painted Lady? I really don't mean to burden you with these questions, but I read her name in that journal you stole for me."

"My mother was mentioned in the journal?" His brow furrowed darkly once more. "Do you have it on you?"

"No, I had to leave it in the hidden compartment. But what was mentioned about her had something to do with a royal burial chamber."

"Her grave." Ouji nodded slowly. "I guess they have to keep track of things like that." He took in a deep breath and continued, "All I can tell you is that it wasn't the prisoners who started calling her the Painted Lady. Kala told me that was the title the guards gave her when she first arrived at the prison. They said she came from royalty, but since she was a traitor she lost her title."

"Her title?"

"Yes." Ouji nodded gravely. "She was Fire Lady Ursa."

"Ursa?" Katara felt as if all the air had been sucked out of her lungs. The Painted Lady was Zuko's mother. _Was_, past-tense. Spirits have mercy!

Poor Zuko.

There was a pregnant pause and Ouji looked about to open his mouth to speak when what sounded like the scraping of iron on stone softly grated above their heads.

"What was that?"

Ouji was already on alert mode. "Someone opened the door to my mother's cell!"

"Ouji, wait!" Katara stretched out her hand to capture the young man's arm, but it was too late. He had already hoisted himself up into the vent and was crawling upwards.

Katara turned her head up at the ceiling, holding her breath so that she could listen. There was the sound of scuffling and something being overturned, and then Ouji's voice boomed with anger and accusation.

"What are you doing here, Assassin?"

_Zuko?_

This wasn't good. Zuko must have found out about his mother. But how did he know that cell was hers? And why was he there? Was this why he hadn't come to see her last night?

Now her worry for Zuko had shifted onto Ouji. The boy was no match for Zuko. She wasn't even sure if Zuko would spare Ouji, for such a move would surely break his cover, especially now that Ouji had so loudly called Zuko out.

There was more scuffling, followed by shouts, and that grating noise sounded again—except this time her cell door was open, too. Katara immediately dashed out into the hallway and held onto the railing that looked into the opening of the gallery. She peered upwards, trying to focus on what little she could see despite the panic rising in her chest.

She spied Ouji's fast, erratic movements. He was kicking wide arcs at an even faster moving black figure. Zuko was dodging Ouji's angry attacks with ease, blocking what kicks and punches got close to his retreating form. Although Katara was more than glad to see him alive, she was worried for Ouji's safety now. She couldn't very well shout out for Zuko to stop or explain why Ouji was attacking him. She could only pray that the guards would break up the fight before someone got hurt.

Shouting could be heard from all corners of the prison floor and Katara knew she wasn't the only prisoner released from her cell to witness the fight. She craned her neck upwards to see Zuko switching from defensive to offensive mode. Though he wasn't using his fire, Zuko was just as deadly with his weapons and his feet. He quickly pulled out his dao swords and began slicing through the air with calculated grace. Squinting, Katara could see Ouji's blue eyes blazing with fury and a ball of fire ignited in his palms.

"No!"

Suddenly there was the familiar sound of rushing water. Katara could see a tiny stream of water form like a whip and lash around Ouji's ankle, pulling him out from beneath his feet. As he fell to the ground, the water shifted and dispersed, freezing to form ice daggers that shot forward with deadly accuracy. Zuko was pinned to the wall in seconds.

"That's enough, Kala!" a guard's voice boomed.

_Kala?_

The guards finally marched in to break up the fight, casting stern glances at the prisoners before locking them back in their cells. The guards had not yet come for her. Perhaps they didn't even know that her cell door had opened, too. But Katara couldn't move. She had to see what was going to happen to Kala and Ouji—and what Zuko was going to do to them.

"Take those two to the interrogation floor," a familiar voice barked. It was Kenzo. "I take it you are well, Assassin?"

Katara watched as Zuko pulled the ice daggers out of his shirt, thus freeing him from the wall. If he had allowed himself to bend fire, he could have stopped the daggers before they hit him. However, he had to maintain the façade of a non-bending assassin.

But why was he in Ursa's cell to begin with? How did he find out? And what was going to happen to Kala and Ouji now?


	10. Ursa's Lament

THE LIGHT HAD gone and with it the warmth. He felt hollow inside, empty—save the incessant desire to break free.

It was a subtle, urging sensation that quickly grew into desperation. His fists immediately answered the imploring call, dangerous weapons that struck at the solid wall of darkness. Battering and tearing, he broke through the rough leathery surface until a small hole appeared, not letting in light but greyness.

His kicks began to coordinate with his fists, deadly assaults focussing on that very spot, sensing weakness. Weakness could not be tolerated. Weakness had to be exploited, immediately and without mercy. His father and sister had taught him that.

Hit after hit, he tore through the blackness—struggling, clawing. His feet found solid ground and he wavered in the misty grey universe. Driven by fear and survival, he pushed forward to where he knew not.

The quiet moments of solitude and awakening had long passed and in their place were confusion and mounting panic. The walls of his mind that had once served as protection had now become an impediment. The soft brain tissue, once a barricade against the raw and frightening valve of human emotions, was gone, stripped away.

Everything flowed freely, unbalanced and unchecked.

Out of control.

And so he fought and tore and scrambled to get out, to free himself from the shackles of his own infected mind.

To escape.

To dominate.

To _kill_.

To become . . .

**.**

**.**

**.**

"KAGE-SAMA?"

Zuko glanced up, his eyes glazed over in thought. Had someone called for him?

"Assassin-san." A stocky, nondescript guard bowed formally before pointing down the hallway. "The old waterbender is ready for interrogation."

Issuing a curt nod of understanding, Zuko raised his hand and signalled for the two guards to leave. Both Fifth Columnists bowed respectively to the assassin and turned down the hall, disappearing into the room near the stairs. Once the guards were out of sight, Zuko let out a laboured sigh and shook his head, trying to remember what he was thinking about before he was interrupted. No recollections came to mind and he grimaced before shrugging off the errant train of thought. Right now he had more pressing issues at hand.

Zuko deliberately made his way to the cell, slipping a hidden bo-shuriken from his sleeve and tucking it into his belt. He had no intention of 'interrogating' this waterbender who had so easily caught him off-guard. She was undoubtedly the same woman who had taught Katara about mindbending. Despite her decrepit appearance she was strong—very strong—and Zuko wished to learn more about this power of hers and if it was at all related to truth-seeing. He also wanted to know why the Water Tribe boy had attacked him and what his connection to his mother was.

Last night, after stumbling upon his mother's grave, Zuko had returned to the prison without notice. There he stealthily slipped into the interrogation cell to thoroughly read the journal Ouji had stolen for Katara. It turned out that it was the former warden Yi's journal, an account of all the important events that had taken place in Ka'shi prison for the past thirty years.

Though it was not a private journal detailing Yi's thoughts, it listed all new prisoners, guards, and visitors, as well as deaths. Zuko's mother, Lady Ursa (referred to as the Painted Lady by the inmates and guards), had been brought to the prison in the same year she had disappeared from the palace. The men who escorted her there were not referred to by name but by title as shoguns, administrative generals. Zuko had never heard of such titles being used before, at least not before Sozin's reign. It was oddly perplexing.

While there was no report on how his mother died or the details of her incarceration, the location of her cell and grave were bureaucratically recorded. Zuko had hoped that by visiting his mother's cell he could discover clues as to how and why she died—or perhaps find a memento she had left behind. But before he had time to search he had been attacked by the teenage prisoner, Ouji, and then by the old waterbending woman. Waterbender Kala had been cited several times in Yi's journal for infractions—mainly involving her defending the Painted Lady and her charge. Zuko knew that it would be from her that he would gain the answers he had been so desperately seeking all these years.

Unlocking the cell door, Zuko took one final glance around the deserted hallway. No one was about watching him, and no one should have been. He smiled. This meant that the guards still feared and respected him. He could 'interrogate' the prisoner without interruption. Slipping inside, he slid the door shut behind him and found the old woman calmly seated in a chair, waiting expectantly.

The waterbender was old, quite old, with long, shockingly white hair tied in the same sort of fashion as Katara's, except with a topknot. Though the numerous deep lines on her dark-skinned face told of a hard life, her light blue eyes were soft and warm, almost inviting. But behind that façade was a sharp sort of shrewdness, as though she could stare into his mind or his very soul. It was a disconcerting feeling to say the least.

Zuko slowly walked over to the woman and then behind her, swiftly undoing the ropes that bound her wrists together. As old as she was, the guards obviously did not trust her to come quietly. Yet this woman before him was calm and poised, almost as if reflecting in meditation. Her breathing did not even speed up when his fingers touched her wrists or when he drew a chair to sit directly in front of her.

Neither said a word, silently calculating one another, and time dragged on. A hymn was sung low in the waterbender's throat, too quiet for him to discern, and Zuko furrowed his brow with a frown. It wasn't right that this woman wasn't afraid of him in the least. She wasn't even being aggressive or openly defiant like Katara had been when he first met her in this very room. It was as though the old woman was reading him, and it unnerved him almost as greatly as the twins did.

Zuko decided to change tactics and carefully removed his mask, keeping the silk hood in place while he set the silver gleaming skull down on the table. Only then did a change come over the waterbender. It was barely perceptible, but it was plain to see that the look on her face was neither that of shock nor fear; it was that of intrigue.

_She reckons I am no threat_, he noted to himself. _Either she is very trusting—unlikely—or very confident. And either she does not have the measure of my strength, or I do not have the measure of hers._

"It is confidence, young assassin," the old woman spoke with a sly grin. "And you do not have the measure of me, nor I of you—_yet_."

He blinked. Had she just read his mind?

"Your thoughts are known to me," she answered casually, shifting slightly in her seat. "I did not reach my advanced age through carelessness. Now I suggest you speak your mind plainly or torture me and be done with it."

Zuko smiled, spreading his palms in a gesture of acquiescence. "My apologies," he began in fluent Southern Water Tribe, and for once the woman lifted her eyebrows in unmasked surprise. "I would humbly beg your pardon if I knew your name."

A small smile crept onto her wrinkled lips. "It appears that I have mistaken your measure, Assassin. I owe you an apology as well. My name is Kala, of the Southern Water Tribe."

"Kala-sama." Zuko bowed respectfully. "I was unaware that you are a Truth-Seer."

"I am _much_ different from your Truth-Seers, Assassin," she spoke sharply, and Zuko lowered his head in apology.

"My apologies again, Kala-sama, but I'm afraid you are mistaken as well. For Yin and Yang are not _mine_, and I am no mere assassin." There was a glint in his eyes as he slowly removed his hood, revealing his unmasked face underneath. "I am Fire Lord Zuko, friend and ally of Master Katara and Avatar Aang."

The wariness went out of Kala's eyes in an instant and she breathed inwards, pausing deliberately as she took in Zuko's features from head to toe. "Well now, aren't you are full of surprises? You are the one Katara has been waiting for."

The tips of his ears burned hotly. He wasn't sure what the old woman meant by that and he wasn't entirely sure if he wanted to know—so he dared not ask.

"Since we are now properly introduced, I would like to ask of you a favour." Kala inclined her head in anticipation. "Could you tell me why that boy attacked me?"

Zuko knew why Kala had attacked him; she was merely protecting the boy. But he had no idea why Ouji would risk his life like that. As Zuko patiently waited for his answer, a troubled expression briefly flitted across the old waterbender's features. Then she promptly folded her hands on top of her lap and sighed.

"Because he believed you were the enemy, and because you were in his mother's cell."

Zuko blinked nonplussed. "His mother's? But Yi's journal only referenced that cell belonging to Lady Ursa, my mother."

"Lady Ursa, the Painted Lady—she was Ouji's mother, too."

"I don't understand."

"Ouji's mother was a prisoner from the Northern Water Tribe. She died giving birth to him." Kala's rheumatic blue eyes softened. "It was your mother who brought him into this world and adopted him as her own."

Shell-shocked, Zuko remained silent for a moment while casting his eyes downwards. He wasn't quite sure how to feel about this revelation. He would be foolish to deny that he didn't feel a measure of envy for this boy who had the serendipity to be raised by such a wonderful woman as his mother. But that was just the jealous reasoning of a younger Zuko who had lost his mother. The reality of Ouji's situation—a boy born in captivity and forced to suffer the loss of a mother twice—was nothing to be envious of. And those childish stabs of jealousy immediately vanished, replaced with a gnawing pang of guilt that tore relentlessly at his insides.

"I must ask you another favour." He turned towards Kala, feeling a knot tighten in the pit of his stomach. "There was no record of how my mother died and—"

"You want me to tell you how your mother died?"

Zuko nodded. "I'd—" he swallowed hard before meeting Kala's eyes "—I'd like you to _show_ me."

The old waterbender exhaled slowly with a sad nod, as if she was expecting such a request. Leaning forward, she reached out with gnarled hand to touch Zuko's face, sliding her fingers up along his temples. He closed his eyes and took in a shuddering breath as Kala's soft voice seemed to speak from inside his own head.

At first there was nothing but the empty darkness of his mind and the pulse of her fingers beating against his temples. He was sure that nothing would happen and was about to speak when a bright white light seemed to switch on inside his mind. Images began to rise to the surface with the dreamlike swirl of colours as the echo of distant voices filled his ears. The images came and went at no set interval or speed, as though time itself had no meaning. Then it felt as if the bottom had dropped out from beneath his feet and he was falling, plummeting into the abyss until gravity was removed and he hovered silently amidst the familiar trappings of a prison cell.

It was an ethereal sort of feeling, as though he didn't exist on this plane but was somehow conscious of self. Through the fog of his mind a scene began to unfold in blurred lines and fading colours of sepia, like observing someone else's memories through a distorted lens. It was like a memory within a memory.

He could see his mother sitting on a futon, staring straight ahead in nervous apprehension. Her arms were reaching out, quickly manoeuvring the body a young boy with blue eyes and darkly-tanned skin behind her back. He held onto her tightly from behind, burying his face into her tunic. It was clear to see that she was protecting the boy, but from what or whom he did not know. What he did know was that his mother was afraid, and a foreboding sense of doom filled Zuko's heart.

_"It's you! What do you want?" _

_Her words were sharp and vitriolic. She was seething with a sort of venomous anger and unmasked fear that he had never seen in his mother before. The fact that she was afraid left him feeling uneasy and just as terrified as the boy she shielded with her body. _

_"Is that any way to treat your dear friends?" _

_Suddenly it was as though the entire room had turned to face opposite his mother. Two dark figures of almost equal height stood near the door of the cell, dressed in equally dark hooded robes that obscured their faces. _

_"Friends?" his mother spat. "You brought me here, and I don't even know why. Neither of you supported my husband!" _

_The two hooded figures exchanged glances. _

_"You've always been such a clever woman, Lady Ursa," spoke a soft female voice. "So clever and calculating. You are not so different from us." _

_His mother recoiled at the comparison, drawing herself upright on the mattress. "I am nothing like you!" _

_"Really now?" The man snorted, withdrawing his hands from his sleeves. "How steady was your hand when you served Lord Azulon his final meal?" _

_His mother's dignified pose faltered and she shrank back, casting her eyes downwards. The boy whimpered softly behind her and suddenly her spine was poker-straight again, a defiant glint sparkling in her eyes. _

_"What is that you want?" There was a regality to her tone that suited her all too well. "What is your agenda here?" _

_"We come with news from the royal court." _

_"News?" His mother's eyes widened with concern. "What news? What has happened?" _

_"Last month Prince Zuko challenged Lord Ozai to Agni Kai," the man spoke slowly, enunciating his words before a wolfish grin rose to his lips. "He lost." _

_"No . . ." his mother whispered in disbelief, tears already spilling down her cheeks. "No, you're lying! Ozai would never—he promised me!" _

_"Ozai lies," the woman commented casually. "Your son is dead." _

_"No!" _

_"Mama?" The boy's dark hand was on his mother's. "Mama, please don't cry." _

_"Ouji." She folded the boy into her arms as tears blistered tracks down her cheeks._

_"How sweet," the woman cooed unnaturally. "Will this boy make up for the loss of your son?" _

_His mother only held onto the boy tighter, burying her head into the crook of his neck and shoulder as she hiccupped back heart-wrenching sobs. _

_"Please, just go away." _

_The hooded woman merely laughed. "We will, once we take him." _

_Suddenly there were guards surrounding his mother, hands reaching out to tear the small boy from her grasp. Her fingers reached out to grab him but he was already being dragged away and held back by a nameless nondescript guard. _

_"No!" _

_"Mama!" _

_"No! No, he's all I have left. Please—" she threw herself to the floor and bowed prostrate before the hooded figures "—please, I beg you; have mercy!" _

_"Warden Yi informed us that the boy has begun bending fire. He can no longer stay with you." The hooded man looked upon Ursa with unmasked disdain. "Take him to the coolers." _

_"NO!" _

_His mother was already on her feet, trying to push through two guards who held her back while the third guard carried the boy out of the cell. _

_"MAMA! MAMA!" _

_The boy's cries were frightened and pitiful, and Ursa could only claw at her captors, beating at them with bruised fists. _

_"Ouji! I love you!" she screamed at the boy, as he disappeared out the door. "I love you, Ouji! I love you!" _

_"Mama, don't let them take me!" _

_Ursa let out a strangled sob and fell to her knees. "Please don't do this! Please!" Her entire body convulsed, consumed with grief. "I have already lost one son. You cannot take Ouji from me." _

_"MOMMY!" _

_"Ouji!" His mother cried his name until her voice became hoarse. "Zuko! Ouji! My babies! My sons!" She tore at her hair, violent sobs racking her entire body. "No, no, no, no, no!"_

_Ursa lay on the ground in a crumbled heap as the rest of the guards filed out of the cell. Only the woman remained behind, watching Ursa cry pitifully before pulling down her hood to reveal a long cable of braided black hair and pale eyes._

_"You will never see him again . . . m'lady."_

Suddenly the images were gone, ripped away from his consciousness. Zuko bolted awake, gasping for air. Tears he hadn't even known he had shed were streaking down his cheeks. His clutched at his chest; it felt tight, like a vice was squeezing down on his heart. He couldn't breathe.

"Please forgive me," Kala's said, her voice somehow reaching him through void. "There is an emotional transference with mindbending, and coupled with your own feelings it must be—" She stopped short and sighed almost painfully. "I cared about your mother very much. We all did."

Zuko sat up straight and brought his hands to his face. A million questions sprung to mind, but only one was insistent on being asked. "How did she die?"

Kala shook her head. He knew that he was asking to see an even more painful memory, but the old waterbender seemed to have too much heart to show it to him. She would not comply.

"I won't show you that." Her voice trembled with restrained emotion. "Your mother loved you too much for me to show you such a thing."

"Please, I have to know. How—how did she die?"

The old waterbender's mouth was set in hard, thin line, as though this were her only defence against his begging. But finally she nodded in defeat. "Your mother died of a broken heart."

"I don't—" his own heart clenched painfully "—I don't understand."

"You should know that your mother loved you very much." Her eyes met his, and she sighed. "You see, everyone here has something that keeps them fighting to live. The thought of reuniting with you is what kept your mother going. After they brought the news about your death and took away Ouji, your mother had nothing left to fight for. They had broken her.

"She would not eat or drink, no matter how hard we tried to get through to her. She would just sit in her cell, repeating yours and Ouji's names over and over until there was no strength left in her. Finally she just—" her voice broke "—she just went to sleep and never woke up."

The pain was immediate and soul-annihilating. It felt as though a knife had been plunged into his heart and twisted so that it would never heal. He wanted so badly to escape inside himself, to let the pain consume him, but such luxuries could not be afforded to him—not now.

"I-I need a moment."

Zuko turned around to face the wall and bent forward, cradling his head in his hands. His mind screamed at him to focus on the task at hand—to find the truth and free Katara from this prison—but his heart wanted to mourn. However, what his heart wanted wasn't what everyone else needed right now. Lives depended on him, and he couldn't break.

Gathering what conviction he had left, Zuko began to picture his uncle. What would Uncle say? He would probably recite some ancient proverb that made no sense and would only infuriate him even more. But then he'd tell Zuko that it was okay to cry, to mourn the loss of those he loved, but to never forget that those loved ones would always be in his heart. Forever. But now he must look to the living in order to honour the dead.

_I will honour my mother's memory by saving those she loved_, Zuko thought to himself. It would be a dishonour to his mother if he were to allow himself to break down and forget that others were counting on him: Katara, Kala, Ouji—the entire Fire Nation. There would be a time to grieve for his mother, but it was not now.

"Kala-sama—" Zuko stood up and turned to face the old waterbender "—those shoguns who took Ouji away and lied to my mother about my death—"

"They are Yin and Yang," Kala said, confirming his suspicions. "They took over the prison when Azulon died and your father ascended the throne. They are the same ones who brought your mother here."

Zuko's eyes darkened. "Then they're original Fifth Columnists?"

"Yes."

He felt as if his heart had just stopped beating. Yin and Yang could very well be the leaders of the entire clandestine organisation, the ones he has been searching for the past two years.

"Kala-sama—"

"Please, call me Kala," she interrupted gently.

"Kala, what did you mean earlier when you said you were different from the twins? You share the same power, do you not?"

The old waterbender shifted uncomfortably in her seat. It reminded Zuko of Katara when anyone tried to engage her in a conversation about bloodbending.

"We do, but you should know that there are always two sides to any power: a dark half and a light half." She lifted her hands in a balancing motion. "A yin and a yang, if you will."

It reminded Zuko of the teachings of the dragons: fire is not just destruction but life. All bending has a destructive force and a life-affirming force. But was it really possible to wield such a destructive power like mindbending and not be affected? Kala seemed to be an exception to the rule and, if he thought about it, so was Katara when it came to bloodbending.

"So it's sort of like the balance of bloodbending and healing?"

"Yes. While bloodbending _can_ be used to heal, it is mainly used to manipulate and control, and even kill."

Zuko frowned, bringing a hand to his chin in contemplation. "So, are Yin and Yang waterbenders?"

Kala shrugged. "I couldn't tell you that, but mindbending is not necessarily restricted to waterbenders alone. My great-grandmother once told me of an airbender with similar powers, and it is even believed that this was once a power that belonged to the Avatars. For you see mindbending requires a balance of emotions, knowledge of chi in the human body, and spiritual enlightenment. Any elemental bender with this knowledge has the potential to be a mindbender."

"That sounds a little like energybending—something only the Avatar can do."

"I do not know of energybending, though I can hazard a guess it is the ability to bend another's energy." Kala's eyes darkened. "But to bend one's mind or one's _will_ is an entirely different power altogether. It is invasive and energy-consuming; it requires intense focus and the ability to separate the mind from the body."

"But?"

"But like with any great power comes heavy consequences."

"Consequences? You mean blindness?"

Kala nodded. "If used too often—to bend other's wills or to look into the thoughts of others—the energy used to bend another's mind can alter the mindbender himself. If a mindbender concentrates all of his energy on seeing someone else's thoughts then his own sight is diminished."

"It's all about balance." Zuko hummed to himself, before posing Kala with another question. "But your mindbending is different from Yin and Yang's?"

"It is exactly as you said: it is all about balance. I do not use my powers to take but to give—to heal the mind. Essentially, I utilise a sort of hydro-kinetics, and it is one of the reasons why mindbending is primarily a waterbending technique, as it comes more naturally to us. But what Yin and Yang do is manipulate and insert false information. They extract and poison the mind."

"How do I stop them?"

The old waterbender looked at him long and hard, and for a moment Zuko saw more than pity in her pale blue eyes. There was a hint of gloom and suspicion and something else he couldn't quite put his finger on, as though she were regarding him as a threat.

"Perhaps you are not meant to stop them," she said finally. "Perhaps you are only meant to see the truth."

"But how can I see the truth in their din of lies?"

Kala merely frowned in answer, and Zuko sighed. He couldn't possibly expect Kala to have all the answers. If only Aang were here; then he could take the twins' mindbending power away. But even then, how could Aang get to them without being manipulated? How could _he_?

"Thank you, Kala." Zuko walked over to the table and picked up his hood and mask. "Thank you for everything." As he fastened the hood and mask securely in place, he headed for the door. But before he could move, Kala's hand was already grasping his forearm, and he turned around in mild surprise.

"Wait. There is something else you should know about what happened today." She let go of his arm. "When you were fighting Ouji, the cell doors were unlocked all at once, which can only be done by the warden."

Zuko frowned. "Kenzo? He can't possibly know who I truly am or else I'd be dead or locked up in the coolers below."

"I don't believe the warden has made the connection." Kala grimaced. "I think he merely saw an opportunity to strike at you."

"With _Ouji_? But then why would he unlock the cell doors so that you all could get out?"

"I don't think he was concerned about us getting out." Kala clasped her hands together. "You see, Ouji is like a son to all of us, and the warden knows that we would all die protecting him."

Zuko shook his head in confusion. "I understand why Kenzo wants me dead, but why would he leave that task to a young prisoner who can barely bend himself—and then try to save that prisoner?"

Kala sighed. Without her even opening her mouth to respond, Zuko already knew the answer. Suddenly all the pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fall into place: Ouji was Kenzo's son.

**.**

**.**

**.**

"WHAT WAS HE snooping in an empty cell for—Lady Ursa's cell at that?" Kenzo curled his hands into fists and punched at his thighs before letting out a strangled guttural sound. "What fool's errand has Yao sent this assassin on?"

Someone coughed a discreet little cough, and Kenzo turned. Standing in the doorway, Yang leaned against the wooden frame and folded his arms across his chest. Blank eyes eerily sought out Kenzo's, causing the warden to recoil slightly in shock. These Truth-Seers were as silent as the assassin.

"We may never know those answers since you opened the cell doors so quickly and allowed the Water Tribe boy to escape."

Kenzo bristled at the Truth-Seer's accusation and tried to rein in his rising temper. It was of no use to argue with either of the twins, and he surely couldn't pull rank. Even if he ever did outrank them, which he didn't, he wouldn't dare oppose them lest he face the terrifying consequences.

"Brother, Kenzo-san was only doing what came natural. Isn't that right?"

The warden glowered. Out of the twins, Yin was the most perceptive and the most talented and, with good reason, the most feared.

"I wanted to find out _how_ that boy comes and goes whenever he wants."

Yang snorted derisively. "We figured you just let him do as he pleases."

"You left him in my charge!" Kenzo barked, and then quickly reproached himself. "I am just doing as ordered."

"Of course." Yin smiled, folding her arms into the sleeves of her robes.

She stared long and hard at the warden with her sightless eyes, and Kenzo suddenly felt ill. An icy chill travelled up his spine and he shuddered uncontrollably. He wondered if he was being manipulated by them right now at this very moment—covertly and subconsciously. It was a frightening notion to dwell upon, so he decided to lead his thoughts elsewhere.

"The boy's a contortionist of something," Kenzo mumbled, turning towards his desk. He would look anywhere but at them. "I will have my guards start sealing the vents tonight."

"That is of no concern to us," Yang said, pushing himself off the doorframe. "What we would like is for you to end Kage-san's interrogation of Master Kala immediately."

_Now who's playing favourites?_ Kenzo thought to himself, absently drumming his fingers on the desk's surface. He never did understand their apprehension over the old waterbending hag. "And the boy?"

"The assassin can interrogate him however he likes," Yang said in a challenging tone, causing Kenzo to immediately back down. "I'm sure you won't disagree."

"No, I won't. But could you tell me something?"

"You want to know why Kage-san was in Lady Ursa's cell."

Kenzo felt a knot tighten in his stomach and nodded. Damn these mind-readers.

"I'm afraid we do not know why." Yin's lips curved upwards into a ravenous grin. "Yet."

Pausing his fingers on the desk, Kenzo swallowed the lump in his throat and looked away. Something deep down inside himself told Kenzo that these Truth-Seers were unnatural liars; the kind of unnatural liars one should be deathly afraid of—and he was.

He was terrified.

**.**

**.**

**.**

THE COOL AIR tingled and pricked against his skin. A rank, unpleasant smell carried down the dark, narrow passageway, reminding Zuko of the sulphur pits he had precariously tread above the other night. There must have been a vent shaft nearby, linking to the tunnels. Yet the area itself was cold and dank, but not nearly as cold as the single cells that broke off the narrow dirt path.

So this was the coolers.

Zuko stopped at the appropriate cell and reached out to open the door. What was he going to say to this boy who was essentially his foster brother? _Hi, we sorta shared the same mother. Sorry for almost killing you earlier._ Zuko shook his head. No, that wouldn't do.

"Assassin-san," said a guard in a particularly low voice, causing Zuko to turn. He had almost forgot that he had been asked to stop his interrogation of Kala and was personally escorted to Ouji's cell. "The cells here are completely sound-proof."

Hand stayed on the handle, Zuko stared pointedly at the guard before the stout man lowered his head in humility. Zuko grimaced beneath his mask. He was not deaf to the insinuation—that he could do whatever he liked to the prisoner without being overheard, and that this was most likely a common occurrence. It was obvious that Ouji was not exactly well-liked by the guards, especially by this stocky man—a man Zuko clearly remembered dragging the young Water Tribe boy from the coolers when he had first arrived at the prison.

Issuing a curt dismissal with a wave of his hand, Zuko waited for the guard to leave before he opened the door to Ouji's cell. The room itself was small, barely able to hold two men comfortably. The boy was sitting with his back to wall, curled up in a tight ball with his arms hugging his legs and his chin tucked into his breast. Zuko frowned, remembering a time when he had been subjected to similar torture. Ouji's eyes were shut, clearly having learned to court the look of unconsciousness whenever a guard opened the cell door. Or perhaps it wasn't an act. Zuko knew all too well that unconsciousness brought surcease from the lingering pains of past tortures; unfortunately it did little to avert new ones.

Closing the door behind him, Zuko crouched low on his haunches and immediately began his breathing techniques. The cold did not do him well either, and he would have given anything to produce a flame to keep both he and the boy warm. But even though the coolers were sound-proofed, he couldn't take the chance of being caught. Instead, he took out a bottle of salts from his belt, opened the cork, and waved it beneath Ouji's nose.

The boy jolted awake almost instantaneously. Blue eyes widened in shock and then fear before narrowing dangerously in defiance. Shivering, Ouji struggled to compose himself in the cramped quarters while Zuko put away the bottle and stood to his feet. He couldn't help but feel marginally impressed. This boy had no master and no means to practise his bending, but he had the look of a warrior and the strength to survive hours and even days of torture that would have broken the strongest firebender.

"Hello, Ouji," Zuko greeted.

He slowly reached out and extended a hand to the Water Tribe boy, who quickly reared back and spat at Zuko's palm. The firebender stared at the glob of saliva on his hand for a moment before curling his fingers into a light fist and letting it fall to his side. He smiled.

"Much as I dislike descending to the obvious," said Zuko, "I feel compelled to tell you that you're only upsetting yourself."

"Go to hell, Assassin!"

Zuko's grin widened beneath the mask and he laughed outright. "The spirits may yet take me there someday."

The boy simply glared at him, and Zuko could only shake his head. There was no use conversing with Ouji as Kage the assassin, so Zuko brought his hand up to his face and carefully removed the mask and dropped it at the boy's feet. Startled, Ouji looked up in dawning horror as Zuko slowly peeled the silk hood off his head and revealed his scarred face.

"What—?" Ouji stared down at the silver skull mask at his feet in utter bewilderment and blinked before glancing back up at Zuko. "Who—?"

"I refuse to have an extended conversation with someone sitting on the floor. It compromises my dignity as much as it does yours." Tucking the silk into his belt, Zuko extended his hand once more to Ouji, who merely stared at it in bafflement. "Come now, be sensible. Take my hand."

Slack-jawed, Ouji merely stared at Zuko's outstretched palm for a moment before finally lifting his own cold hand to Zuko's. Warm fingers firmly grasped the boy's forearm and he was lifted to his feet. Once standing, Ouji let go of Zuko's wrist and openly studied the older man's features, cataloguing them. A dim spark of recognition had been ignited.

"I know your face."

Zuko compressed his lips together in a sharp line before inclining his head gravely. "I am Fire Lord Zuko; Lady Ursa's son."

"I—" Ouji's mouth dropped open in shock "—I didn't know." The boy was about to protest further when Zuko raised his hand and offered him a soft smile.

"Please, I didn't expect you to know who I was. I was merely—" he searched for the right word "—_surprised_ to find you in my mother's cell."

Ouji glanced down at his feet, suddenly timid. "Your mother was—"

"Your foster mother." Zuko nodded. "I know. Kala told me. She showed me how you were taken from her."

Releasing a long breath, Ouji slumped back against the wall as though he had just been struck in the gut. "It was all my fault," he whispered. "They used me to hurt her."

"No. If it's anyone's fault, it's mine." Zuko curled his hands into fists. "Or, point of fact, my father's. None of this was your fault, Ouji." He reached out and put a hand on the boy's shoulder, relieved that it wasn't shrugged off. "I'm glad you were there for her; that you were there for each other."

Ouji finally glanced up, his eyes shining in appreciation. Zuko wondered how long this boy had lived with that kind of guilt. In that moment they felt like kindred spirits. But then the moment passed and the two men continued to stare at each other in increasingly awkward silence. Zuko lowered his hand and silently cursed the cramped quarters while Ouji shifted uncomfortably on his feet, bringing his own hand to the back of his neck.

"So _you_ are Fire Lord Zuko, huh? I thought you were just some assassin." Ouji frowned momentarily, worrying his tongue along his incisor in contemplation. "I mean I overheard you with Katara and—"

"What?"

A blush crept up Ouji's neck at the memory of what he had overheard in the interrogation cell the other day. He was relieved to discover that Katara hadn't been tortured; however, it probably wasn't the best subject for him to bring up right then.

"It's nothing. Never mind," Ouji said quickly, shaking his head. He dropped his hand and glanced up at Zuko with open awe. "Wow, I can't believe you're _the_ Fire Lord Zuko. You helped bring about the end of the hundred years war. You committed treason to join the Avatar and save the world." A lopsided grin settled on his lips. "You're like the ultimate bad guy turned traitor turned hero."

"Ultimate bad guy turned traitor turned hero, huh?" Zuko smiled crookedly. "Yeah, I don't think I'll encourage the bards to phrase it quite that way when they compose the epic story that is my life."

Ouji laughed. "You have the same wry sense of humour as her. And your eyes—" he nodded, swallowing hard "—you have her kind eyes."

Zuko's smile wobbled, wavering for half a second. He hadn't expected such simple words to affect him so. He was more than happy that his mother had found someone to love in such a hopeless place—and to be loved—but he still couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy. It seemed that old habits died hard, or not at all.

"So, is your sister the same as you?"

Choking outright on his own phlegm, Zuko sputtered, "U-uh, no. Azula took after our father." He cleared his throat and composed himself. "I'm surprised you know so much about the war in the first place, considering how isolated you are here."

Ouji shrugged and wrapped his arms tightly around himself. "I overheard a lot of conversations that weren't meant to be overheard. From there I sorta filled in the blanks on my own."

Right. Ouji was the mobile prisoner, able to come and go whenever he pleased. It made sense that he would have overheard Kenzo and the guards talking about the war—and why Zuko was considered a traitor and why Azula wasn't mentioned at all (what with her mental breakdown and all). Zuko found himself wondering how much this boy knew, being able to move as freely as he did.

Admittedly, Zuko had initially been quite shocked to discover the boy suddenly standing behind him in his mother's cell. He hadn't even heard him approach. Ouji had managed to quietly and stealthily manoeuvre in the vents and drop down without making a sound. And to surprise attack Zuko from behind like that—it was an almost impossible accomplishment. The spirits only knew how many times Sokka had unsuccessfully tried to ambush him from behind. But the real surprise at the moment was why Ouji had attacked him in the first place.

"Can you tell me why you were protecting my mother's cell? I can't think of any other reason why you would attack me, aside from viewing me as the enemy." Zuko folded his arms across his chest. "I read the warden's journal and found where my mother's cell was located. I—" he took in a deep breath "—I think I wanted to satisfy a morbid curiosity, as though I could feel her in the brick and sand."

"Well, that is—I hid things in her cell," Ouji confessed, his voice strange. "Her letters."

"Letters?" Zuko's voice wavered. The knot inside his chest that he had been trying to deny clenched even tighter. His gaze steadily met Ouji's, expectant of a deeper explanation.

"Before Yin and Yang came for me she had shown me the letters she wrote for you and your sister." A sad smile rose to his lips in remembrance. "She wrote to you every day without fail. And I had wanted—well, I had _hoped_ that if I ever got out of here, I could deliver those letters to you, her real son."

Zuko swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded slowly before placing a warm palm on the boy's shivering arm. "You were her son, too, Ouji."

Again, the boy slumped forward as though he had just been hit. He lowered his head, his chin resting on his chest, and Zuko could feel Ouji's entire body tremble beneath his fingers. Zuko was unsure of what to do—he was always unsure in times like these—so he did what he believed Katara would do, what his mother would do, and he squeezed the boy's arm harder, reassuringly. After a few seconds, Ouji sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. He lifted his head and offered Zuko a watery smile.

"I have to say that I still can't believe you're here." He gave a short laugh before sniffing again. "You know that you're surrounded by enemies who want you dead, right? It was suicide to come here."

Zuko dropped his hand and nodded. "True, but a friend was in danger. Who would I be if I didn't do everything in my power to save her?"

Ouji eyed Zuko with open amazement and smiled; his entire face lit up like a small child's. "You're exactly like her." He took in a deep breath and exhaled. "Exactly."

Zuko couldn't help but smile at the comparison and glanced down at his feet in humility. But this wasn't the time to take compliments and reminisce. Lives were at stake, and he only had a short window of opportunity to act. Spotting his mask on the floor of the cell, Zuko bent down and picked it up. He fingered it in his hand, staring at it long and hard, before glancing back up to meet Ouji's eyes.

"Katara tells me that you know the ins and outs of this prison and the surrounding area."

"The underground tunnels?"

"You've been in them before?"

Ouji nodded. "The one below the prison and the one out in the hills near the mausoleum."

Zuko smiled, silently thanking the spirits. Ouji would be even more useful than he originally thought. "If I were to give you a map, do you think you could create an escape route?"

"Sure."

"Good." Zuko nodded vigorously, feeling the urge to pace. "Is there some place where all the prisoners can gather in relative seclusion?"

Ouji crossed his arms over his chest and pondered the question for a moment before nodding. "The mess hall is lightly guarded. You could hold a meeting there if the guards were distracted during dinner. I could cause that distraction, if you were to get me out of here." He offered Zuko a sheepish grin. "It's the one place I haven't managed to escape yet."

The wheels and cogs began to spin and whirl in Zuko's mind. Ideas that were once vague thoughts had become plans. For the first time in days he felt the elusive glimmer of hope.

"Oh, I'll get you out, but we'll have to act on this quickly. The full moon will be fully illuminated tomorrow night."

"Full moon?" Ouji's brow creased in confusion.

"It's a long story."

"I have all the time in the world down here." Ouji gestured to the small space with a wave of his hands. "So tell me, what's your plan of escape? How can I help get you and Katara out of here?"

"Not just me and Katara." Zuko gave Ouji his most winning half-smile. "I'm getting _all_ of us out of here."


	11. The Lost Temple of Lüng

SOKKA STEPPED OUT onto the deck of the ship and took in a deep breath. The familiar tang of salt air filled his lungs. Though the smells and the tastes were nostalgic, he grimaced. Before him was the endless grey of the sea and above were rolling clouds that threatened to swallow the sky.

It was an inverted sea of sluggish ashen waves crashing against the sky as the ocean below tossed and turned. The air itself was thick with fog, a murky sort of death shroud that dared them to travel any further. And as lightning streaked up at the clouds with a slow thunder rolling in the distance, Sokka found himself wondering what fools before him had actually taken up that challenge.

The weather had been calm not some two hours earlier, before they had passed the mark of the North Pole. The sea had been cold but now it was past the point of freezing, and a bitter chill had enveloped the very air around them. Feathery mist marked his breath, barely visible before the air drank it, and he pulled his fur-lined coat tightly around his body. The North Pole and beyond was pure ice as far as Sokka could tell, full of glaciers and mist; much more bleak than the South Pole. How they hoped to find Aang through this dense fog he did not know.

"Any sign of land?"

Sokka shook his head in answer while June frowned thoughtfully beside him, squinting as she tried to spy a solid horizon somewhere in the dense fog. Her shirshu had curled itself around her feet, making soft whimpering noises as the boat rocked. The bounty hunter reached down and patted Nyla's head to comfort it, and the shirshu gratefully nuzzled its master's hand. The beast did not look accustomed to the water or the cold, much like the small female earthbender seated behind them.

"We've been on this boat forever," Toph whined, wrapping her furs snugly around her neck and torso as she shivered uncontrollably. She had even taken to covering her feet with suede moccasins. "Are you sure Aang's this way?"

Toph spared June a curious half-expectant glance, as did Sokka. They had put all their faith in her and her ageing shirshu's tracking skills; they couldn't afford for her to be wrong. In lieu of a verbal response, the bounty hunter merely shrugged indifferently. Leaning forward on the railing, June seemed entirely unaffected by the cold—even more so than Sokka.

"Nyla's nose is never wrong," she said, before turning around to take the seat next to Toph.

Sokka let out a disgruntled sigh and rubbed at the back of his neck. He did not doubt June's shirshu, but something wasn't right about this water or this fog. It was as though some unnatural force was trying to confuse them, to throw them off their course.

"All I see is grey, and when it's not grey it's this misty white fog." Sokka leaned forward, placing his gloved hands on the railing. "It feels like at any moment we're going to drop off the face of the earth."

"I certainly hope not," Toph said through chattering teeth. "What does the map say?"

Sokka stood back and took the rolled up parchment from inside his breast pocket. He walked over to where the girls sat and took a seat, unfurling the map and smoothing it out on a wooden crate that served as a makeshift conference table.

"No land that I can see." He followed his finger along the map. "All it shows this far north-west of the North Pole is a giant sea monster."

"Sea monster?" Toph pulled back rather abruptly, and June snorted derisively at the girl's obvious apprehension. "What?"

"Those are just put there to scare off idiot travellers," June scoffed. "There's no monster there."

Both Sokka and Toph exchanged dubious glances before Sokka shook his head. "You've obviously never been to the Serpent's Pass," he muttered, tapping his index finger on the drawing. "I put a lot of stock into these crude drawings of sea creatures."

"Whatever." June shrugged, unconvinced. "It just means this part of the ocean is uncharted."

"Uncharted?" Toph drew up her hood. "So not many people have travelled this far and lived is what you're saying."

"The further north the colder it gets, right?" June reached into the crate beside her and pulled out a slab of meat, throwing it down on the deck for Nyla. "There are probably too many icebergs for a large ship to traverse through."

As the shirshu consumed its cold meal, Sokka pursed his lips together and nodded thoughtfully to himself. Then he rolled up the map and slipped it back inside his coat.

"I dunno about that. The Fire Nation managed relatively fine at the South Pole, although there were a few wrecked ships." He paused, tapping his gloved finger on his lip before turning to look back out at sea. "I think the real imperative for sailing so far north is this dense fog. It makes it impossible to navigate. It's almost . . . unnatural."

The three sat silently together, listening to the unnerving quiet of the sea. The mist seemed to thicken in the air, parting around them like white curtains as the ship began to bob wildly at sea. Feet shuffled and everyone tried to maintain their balance while the boat rocked and dipped. Sokka muttered of evil things passing in the night when Toph delivered a sharp elbow to his ribs.

"Careful now," she growled, "you might scare the women."

Sokka laughed and stood to his feet. "You're right. Where's an airbender when you need one? Or a waterbender for that matter." He threw up his hands. "Hell, I'd settle for Zuko. He'd make it through this fog no problem."

"That guy always did manage to survive when others would perish," Toph agreed.

The two comrades shared a brief reminiscence while the bounty hunter rolled her eyes and placed her hands on her knees. Swiftly, she rose to her feet, and everyone looked up at her expectantly.

"Well, we had better stop here for now and rest," June suggested, calling to Nyla before heading below decks. "Maybe in a few hours the fog will have cleared and we can get a better lay of the sea."

"Good idea." Sokka gave a curt nod and directed his attention to the petite earthbender. "Toph, would you do the honours?"

"Aye-aye, Captain." She mock saluted him before jumping up and metalbending the anchor off the side of the deck and down into the sea below. "Heave ho!"

Each then retired to his and her own quarters with the hope that after a few hours rest they would return to brighter conditions; that the unruly fog outside would have lifted, allowing them to more easily navigate the unknown sea. Sokka's head had barely hit his pillow before the tiredness of their long journey finally seeped into his bones, settling him into a deep sleep.

"_Sokka_," a soft voice whispered to him, slicing its way through the intricate tapestry of his dreams.

"Mmm, yes, please," he muttered sleepily, turning over on his side. "Of course I'll have some more of that delicious meat."

"Sokka!" The voice was louder now, as were the hands upon his chest more forceful and persistent.

"Wha—who is it?" Alert, he sat up with his bone blade already in hand; aimed at what he assumed was the throat of the disembodied voice that called out to him. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, Sokka's vision began to focus on the person shaking him so roughly. "Toph?" He lowered his blade immediately. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Someone's up on deck," she whispered, pointing to the ceiling above.

Sokka clutched his blade even tighter and frowned. "You sure it isn't June?" Toph's hand snapped out, issuing a hard slap to the back of his head. "Okay, okay. I get it." He rubbed at the tender area for a moment before lowering his hand. "I'm getting up already! Sheesh!"

Sokka rushed to pull on his boots and gather his sword and boomerang. Quietly opening the door to his cabin, Sokka and Toph sneaked out into the hall. Sokka peered down the corridor towards June's room, seeing the door closed and the lights off. There was no use waking her; the spirits only knew how she and her shirshu would react to him walking into her room unannounced. He'd likely get his ass summarily handed to him on a silver platter while the possible intruder would be alerted to their wakeful presence.

"Why aren't you all over this?" Sokka muttered to Toph, as they made their way towards the stairs.

He tried to convince himself that the noise was most likely a bird or maybe even loose cargo rolling around on the deck. But Toph was never wrong about these things, which was unfortunate in this case.

"Cause this is a _wooden_ ship?" Toph supplied with biting sarcasm. "I can't do much here, especially with this boat rocking so—" she reached out with a hand against the railing to steady herself and her stomach "—so, ugh, much."

Toph didn't exactly fair well on ships or in water or in the air for that matter. She wouldn't be much use on a boat in the middle of the ocean, and Sokka knew that bothered her. It bothered him too, if he were to be completely honest. If there indeed was an intruder and this intruder was a waterbender, they were pretty much screwed. If it came to a fight, Toph would have to rely on Sokka, and he would have to show her that she could depend on him.

Tip-toeing up the stairs as stealthily as possible, the two finally made it up on deck. The fog was even thicker than before, darker, stretching out left and right. It seemed limitless, bulking over their heads like a towering cliff—a cliff of thick mist in the middle of a grey valley.

"Be my eyes, Toph," he whispered, and the petite earthbender snorted.

"Funny." She pointed up ahead. "He's still up on deck. Whoever he is, he's very quiet and light on his feet."

"Light on his feet, like Aang?"

"No," she whispered hoarsely, "not like Aang."

Sokka frowned, pulling out a short blade. "He wants to draw us up top instead of getting cornered down below." He took in a deep breath, ready to charge. "Alright, let's go get him."

Toph followed, wobbling to and fro as the waves crashed against the side of the boat, causing it to rock. Sokka tried to keep his wits about him, squinting through the dense fog, but he could barely see his own hand in front of his face.

"When he gets the drop on you, make sure to make a lot of noise. Okay?"

Sokka whipped his head around to glare at Toph. "_When_ he gets the drop on me? Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Just make a lot of noise so I know where you both are." She held up the meteorite band he had given her fourteen years ago. "I can still use this to bind his wrists."

"Oh, that is a good plan," he agreed, dropping his guard momentarily.

"You two sure do talk a lot."

Sokka spun around, trying to suss out where exactly the mysterious voice was coming from. Was the intruder on the mast or was he closer than that?

"Get him!" Toph cried, firing her arm straight ahead like a general sounding her troops to battle.

"Get him?" Sokka repeated, before a sharp blow was delivered to his kidneys. "Oof!"

Spinning on his heel, Sokka plunged through the mist with his sword. The shadowy figure easily side-stepped his advance and disappeared back into the thick, greying fog. Sokka, in turn, swung wide. Meeting air, he could hear a gentle whoosh of his blade and a solid figure billowing past him. Toph tried to shout out directions for him; however, even she couldn't keep up with the assailant's pace or properly distinguish his sounds and the sounds of the sea crashing against the side of the boat. Sokka was indeed sightless. Beyond the tip of his nose was only featureless grey. He couldn't see a thing, not even the shadow of his attacker.

"Damn, he's nimble!" Toph shouted, trying to feel her way through the mist.

The sound of her voice alone might as well have come from Sokka's own mouth; the murk seemed to swallow the sounds before they could reach his ears. He was not even sure of his direction anymore. Anything could be ahead of him or under his feet. He couldn't even see his own feet; the fog shrouded him completely below the waist. He picked up his pace regardless and suddenly stepped out beside Toph into a peculiar pale, shadowless light.

"Ugh, I think I'm going to be sick." Toph began to retch as the boat furiously bobbed and turned.

Sokka swallowed a curse. He could barely find his own footing as he glanced wildly about for the assailant. Blinking curiously, all he could see was the pale light that barely broke a line through the dense fog. Where the hell was it coming from?

"Dammit!" He pulled a flat, arched slab of wood and metal from behind his back. "Guess I'll put my faith in good old reliable boomerang."

"Boomerang?" the disembodied voice muttered in surprise, advancing closer. "Wait—"

"Too late, bub!"

The weapon had already left Sokka's hand, cutting through the thick air with a reverberating whoosh. A few seconds later he heard the wooden weapon connect with flesh—a wet slapping sound—and he waited for the inevitable yelp or thud as the intruder fell to the deck. Instead, the boomerang was thrust outwards, towards him. A dark hand held onto the other end, offering it to Sokka willingly.

The damn bastard had caught his boomerang!

"You are Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe," the man with the deep voice said, slapping the boomerang into the bewildered warrior's hand.

"Uhm, yes?" Sokka almost seemed unsure of himself as he answered the stranger, a man who had so easily caught his boomerang through this dense thicket of fog.

"It's been a long time," the stranger spoke, his voice far gentler than before. "You don't remember me, do you?"

_It'd help to recognise you if I could see you_, Sokka thought bitterly to himself.

The stranger stepped into the pale light whose source seemed to be coming the side of the ship. Sokka could barely make out the man's features, save to say that he was tall with lightly tanned skin, long brown hair, and possibly pale blue eyes or grey. As the light pooled over his face, Sokka could see the man a bit more clearly now. He indeed had blue eyes and a strong, square jaw.

He was strikingly handsome in an arrogant sort of way, although his appearance wasn't exactly perfect. On his right eyebrow he bore a long pale scar, slicing diagonally towards his eye. If anything, though, the scar made him look more rugged, battle-tested. He wore plain dark clothes, but upon his chest he wore a silver breastplate with the Water Tribe insignia and a pair of black swords on his back.

"We met during the Northern Siege," the stranger clarified with a slight smirk on his lips, inclining his head in an almost humble manner. "I was a complete ass to you."

"_Hahn_?" Sokka's hand and jaw dropped simultaneously. "Hahn, is that you?"

Hahn nodded slowly, his smirk transforming into a genuine smile. "It's okay," he suddenly yelled to someone off to the side of the ship, motioning grandly with his hands. "These are the Avatar's friends. Lift the fog."

The fog at that point had become an enormous hollow dome hiding in the sky; its bubbling inner surface glowing a pale sharp blue. Suddenly the mist began to lift, dispersing like rain until the sky itself opened up, revealing a dark blue horizon. The sea below them settled at once, crisp sun-dappled waves rolling gently against the side of the ship.

To the left a small boat was revealed, docked against the larger ship. A tall man dressed in gold and blood-orange robes stood out on the deck. He was waving his hands in an intricate manner, causing the mist to disperse like a cover around them. In that moment Sokka was reminded of Aang, except this man did not wear long, blue arrow tattoos. Instead he wore the symbol for wind in the centre of his forehead and chest like a tribal tattoo.

"Do you know this guy?" Toph asked, pointing in Hahn's general direction.

"I-I think so," Sokka's attention momently diverted from what looked to be an airbender and back to the warrior. "Toph, this is Hahn of the Northern Water Tribe." He motioned with his hand back and forth. "Hahn, this is Toph Beifong."

"Hey." Toph gave a short, informal wave as Hahn bent forward, bowing respectfully.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," he said with great sincerity. "Aang has told me all about you—how you created metalbending. What an amazing feat."

Toph dismissively waved a hand in front of her face. "Yeah, I _am_ pretty amazing. Glad Twinkletoes covered the basics. But, you know—" she brought the same hand to the back of her neck "—today doesn't count. I'm off my game; seasick and with no element to bend and all."

"Of course." Hahn smiled good-naturedly. "I understand."

Sokka couldn't help but openly gawk at his old nemesis the entire time he spoke. This was Hahn of the Northern Water Tribe. Hahn! Arrogant 'I'd-like-to-punch-him-in-the-throat' Hahn. But how could this be? How could he still be alive?

"I thought you were dead," Sokka said, voicing his thoughts, and Toph turned towards Sokka with a frown.

"Dead?"

"Yeah, at the Northern Siege." Sokka turned his attention back to Hahn. "I watched Zhao throw you off his ship. How did you survive?"

"Luck, mainly." Hahn's pale eyes darkened and he took in a deep breath. "I somehow managed to survive the fall and the freezing water. To be honest, I'm not sure how long I floated in the waters, barely conscious. It seemed like days, but it was probably only hours at the most; minutes.

"A fisherman named Juro found me and fished me from the sea. He saved my life. He took me to his home, an island between not far from the Western Air Temple—a former colony of the Fire Nation. I had no memory of who I was at first, but Juro treated me like a son, despite knowing that I was Water Tribe and he was Fire Nation. I became a fisherman like him and lived a simple life for many months until—well, until circumstances enabled me to recall my memory."

"Circumstances, huh?" Toph didn't sound all that convinced. "Sounds like you're leaving out all the juicy parts."

"Long story short, I left the island and began my own journey of self-discovery." Hahn offered Sokka an apologetic smile. "Realising how arrogant and close-minded I had been in the past, I chose to correct this attitude with my second lease on life." He stretched out his large hands and motioned to their surroundings. "I travelled great distances, from one end of the Fire Nation to the other. I even roamed the Earth Kingdom for a few years."

"What for?"

"I was trying to soak up as much knowledge about the different cultures as possible," he offered as an explanation. "I managed to obtain a boat for myself and began travelling to unknown places. It was only a year ago when I discovered the Temple of Lüng and the Vāyus who dwell there."

"Vāyus?" Toph paused in recollection. "You mean airbenders—the _original_ airbenders?"

"So it was _you_ who told Aang about this place?" Sokka asked, and Hahn nodded in affirmative.

"It took me a while to find the Avatar and speak to him directly in person. I couldn't very well trust a messenger hawk to relay the news in case it was intercepted." Hahn's countenance darkened seriously. "No one but the Avatar must know of this place."

Once his tale was told, Hahn brought his hands behind his back and patiently waited for a response. Toph, no longer in shock, merely picked at her ears while Sokka brought a finger to his lips, tapping them in thought.

"That's an interesting tale," Sokka said, dropping his hand, "and like Toph here, I do believe you've left out some key details."

"Only for brevity's sake, I assure you. It is, like you said, an interesting tale but it is also a very long one." Hahn dropped his shoulder forward and shook his head. "I know I have no right to expect you to trust that I have changed—and I apologise for my past behaviour towards you, Sokka, truly—but if you do not trust me, then trust Aang."

Sokka breathed loudly through his nose and grumbled. He stared long and hard at Hahn before folding his arms together in what seemed more like an act of reluctant acceptance rather than stubborn defiance.

"What happened between you two, a lover's quarrel?"

"Quiet, Toph!"

"What?" The earthbender raised her hands in a defensive manner before hooking her thumb back to point at the person standing behind her. "It wasn't me who said that, although I really wish I had."

"June?" Sokka turned, staring daggers at the bounty hunter. "Just perfect. Where did you come from?"

"Below decks," she answered dryly, before striding past Toph to get a better look at the stranger. "I did come here with you, you know." Sokka glowered at her deadpan snark, but June merely smiled that thin, dangerous smile of hers. "I heard the ruckus and decided to see what was going on."

"Yeah, thanks for quickly coming to our aid," Toph supplied sarcastically, but June ignored her, taking in the features of the tall warrior.

"Who's this?" she asked Sokka, but was looking directly at Hahn.

"I am Hahn of the Northern Water Tribe." Hahn formally bowed to the bounty hunter. "A pleasure to meet you, June."

"Hmm." The raven-haired beauty ran her fingers over her lips, and her grin suddenly turned wolfish. "Charming, polite, _and_ handsome." She glanced over her shoulder at Sokka. "He's got you outmatched, Water Tribe."

Sokka instantly soured at her remark, pulling the most disgruntled face imaginable before unfolding his arms and throwing them up at the sky. It seemed as though he was soliciting serenity from the heavens themselves.

"Why do I surround myself with mean, bossy women?"

"Speaking of which," Toph interrupted, "we need to find the bossiest one of all."

Sokka let out a deep sigh at the mention of his sister, and his heart suddenly clenched in sorrow.

"You came here seeking the Avatar, am I correct?" Hahn asked, standing at full height.

"We are." Sokka pulled himself together. This was not the time to dwell in darkness and self-pity. He came here to find Aang, to find a way to save his sister. "Where is he?"

Hahn nodded curtly before extending his arm, motioning towards the small boat with the strange airbender. "Please, follow me."

**.**

**.**

**.**

THE SUN SLID behind the mountain, silhouetting the peaks and painting the undersides of the clouds red. Shadows blanketed the valley below as the air itself grew crisp. Almost two-hundred leagues north-west of the North Pole, Aang glided in and out of the cloud-streaked sunrise, revelling in the feel of the cool air rushing against his skin.

It had been pure chance that Hahn had found the long-ancient race of airbenders, and Aang couldn't have been happier to discover their existence, as well as another breed of sky bison. The Vāyus themselves, known as the original airbenders, had rightly earned their title as Lords of the Wind. Aang had never seen airbenders fly so high or for so long without the aid of a glider. Climbing high above the clouds, the Vāyus would let go of their gliders and start propelling themselves towards the sun before hovering in sync with their gliders with a sort of dignified grandeur. It was like witnessing magic, a truly an amazing experience. Coming together with such an ancient, noble race had reminded Aang of his meeting with the Sun Warriors not some fourteen years ago.

Vāyus, unlike Air Nomads, did not wander far from the temple. Aang had learnt from the Mukhya-Vāyu, the chief or leader of their people, that not long after the initial incarnation of the Avatar they had sequestered themselves on this very island, long before the Sun Warriors had followed the same path. The island itself was far enough west to have a temperate climate and far enough north for fishermen to consider too dangerous to travel. Even if some brave fisherman had taken the route to Lüng, he would have never seen the temple for it was located high atop the mountain—a mountain barely visible through the man-made fog. To the untrained eye it would have appeared to be a great glacier rising out of the sea instead of a mountain sustaining life.

The Vāyus themselves did travel from time to time, for they could not escape their instinct to carry like a leaf on the wind. However, everything they needed was on the island—food, water, and timbre. Those who did leave always returned; for the survival of their race was imperative, along with ensuring the survival of the original source of airbending: the sky bison. Therefore, the Vāyus had learnt long ago to keep the knowledge of their island a secret and took careful pains to protect themselves. As such, they had learnt how to master air better than any other airbending culture.

Upon seeing the Vāyus in action, Aang had done his best to learn from them and was glad that they were willing to teach. In fact, they seemed rather pleased at his presence on the island. He had spent the last few months training with them, soaking up all the knowledge they had to offer, and he felt more at home than he had since he was a child. He knew he would have to return to his real home soon, but not before picking a suitable mate for Appa.

It was then, when flying high above the clouds, that Aang had spotted a tiny speck on the ocean's surface below. He immediately dived down to get a better look while the Vāyus stood over the edge of the mountain, creating a dense fog to hide the temple. Below the clouds Aang managed to spot Hahn's small boat escorting a much larger ship towards the harbour at the base of Lüng Mountain.

Without wasting any time, Aang began his descent and landed in a long pasture marked as the gliders' field by coloured streamers on tall poles. The lush, green grasses had been trampled and scored months since he had arrived to meet and train with the ancient bending race. Folding his glider into a staff, Aang began to frown. He knew that Hahn would never bring strangers to the island, even if he had been threatened or taken hostage. His dedication to the Vāyus was that great. Something had to be wrong.

Aang immediately whistled for Appa, and the sky bison quickly responded, flying down from above and landing at the Avatar's feet with a grunt. Aang flew up and straddled the ageing mount before pulling at the reins and issuing the familiar yip-yip. When they finally made it down to the shore near the harbour, Aang could see what looked to be the Mukhya-Vāyu and some elders already gathered at the shore ready to greet the small party, obviously having seen the boat long before Aang had.

Coming closer, Aang could see four people on the dock, including a rather large and familiar-looking beast—a shirshu. Once landed, Aang dismounted and commanded Appa to stay behind before taking off down the small hill towards the beach. The tiny, blurred people came into focus as he ran, and he grew more excited and agitated. He could see Hahn at the dock, tying off the ropes, and two very familiar people standing behind him.

"Sokka! Toph!" Aang ran towards his friends with a bright smile on his face. It had been ages since he last saw them.

They embraced briefly, mixed looks of awe and apprehension lingering on their faces. Aang suddenly felt cold and nervous. Again, something wasn't right. Why were they here? He swallowed hard, glancing up at Hahn, who had his brow creased in thought. He then turned his attention back to Sokka and Toph.

"What's wrong?" His mouth slanted downwards into a scowl. He could taste bile at the back of his throat. "Why are you two here?"

"Aang." Shoulders slumped forward, Sokka placed a heavy hand on the Avatar's shoulder. "Katara's been kidnapped."

Sokka was barely able to finish his sentence before Aang whirled around, whistling for Appa. The warrior had half-expected the monk to slip into the Avatar State, but Aang's eyes were clear and murderously intent as he flew up onto the sky bison neck and snapped at its reins.

"Aang, wait!"

"There's no time to wait!" Aang snapped, signalling for Appa to take off. "Katara needs me!"

"We don't even know where she is, Twinkletoes," Toph shouted, cupping her hands around her mouth. "You can't just go off flying in every which direction. You'll never find her that way."

"But—" Aang's shoulders slumped forward in defeat and the sky bison began to slow "—but I can't just sit here and do nothing."

"No one's asking you to do that!"

Sokka was running alongside Appa until Aang glanced down and reluctantly pulled on the reins, motioning for the sky bison to stop.

"We've already got a plan. We're heading back to General Iroh's villa in Phanom Rung." He took in several gulps of air before continuing, "Iroh believes that Zuko has will send his messenger hawk to the villa and we can follow it back to wherever Katara's being held."

Aang's brow knitted together in confusion. "Zuko?"

"Yeah. According to June's, uh, _thing_ over there—" Sokka pointed at Nyla before turning back to Aang "—Zuko is with Katara."

"They were both kidnapped?"

"I don't think so." Sokka shook his head before scratching the back of his neck. "You see, Zuko's been undercover for the past two years; he's been trying to infiltrate the Fifth Column."

"The Fifth Column?" Aang frowned. "But then who's on the throne right now?"

Sokka waved his hand dismissively, still trying to catch his breath. "It's a long story, and I'll tell you all about it on the way back to Phanom Rung."

"I'd like to come with you, if you'll allow it." Hahn had already climbed the hill with relative easy; Toph and June were trailing closely behind.

"Of course, Hahn." Aang then ordered Appa to lower himself to the ground so that the others could board his saddle. "We'll need all the help we can get."

Toph, who had the ears of a fox, saddled up beside Sokka and whispered conspiratorially in his ear, "How exactly is _this guy_ gonna help?"

"I have no idea."

"Alright, let's go," Aang ordered impatiently, as Toph and Sokka climbed on board. "You coming, June?"

The bounty hunter shook her head and smiled thinly. "Nah, I think I'll stay here for a bit and then take the ship back." She raised her hand in a wave. "Good luck."

Aang nodded curtly and gave a yank on the reins. "Appa, yip-yip!"

"Thanks, June!" Sokka cried over the side of the saddle, as the sky bison began to climb into the air.

"Yeah, thanks, Peaches!" Toph waved blindly, causing the bounty hunter to roll her eyes.

Flying high above the clouds so that they wouldn't be spotted, the gang sped away from the Temple of Lüng and southwards to Phanom Rung. As they travelled Sokka filled Aang in on everything that he knew while Aang silently prayed for the safety of his fiancée. If only he had persuaded her to come with him to the temple; if only he hadn't left. He had never felt more helpless in his life. Not knowing where Katara was or if she was okay was killing him inside. He had to find her and he had to find her fast.

_Thank the spirits she's with Zuko, _he said to himself with a great sigh of relief. _If anyone can protect Katara, it's him._

* * *

**Translations:**

*Lüng is a variation of Lung (or rLung), which is the Tibetan word for _wind/breath_.  
*Vāyu is the Hindi term for _air_; in deity form, this word means _Lord of the Winds_.


	12. Political Maelstrom

THE MORNING SUNLIGHT pooled across the bedroom floor, spidering all the way up the walls until a sliver of light dared to kiss Mai's eyes.

The Fire Lady woke groggily from her restless slumber filled with troubling dreams, the more troubling because she could not remember them. Her dreams had always been open to her before, as clear as printed words on parchment, yet these dreams had been murky and fearful. She'd had too many of these dreams as of late, and they left her wanting to run away—to escape and never return. It was that marked uneasiness that caused her to send word to Ty Lee not some two days ago. Her dreams, though hazy, had hinted at trouble, and Mai couldn't think of a greater trouble than the Fifth Column and the threat they posed to her fragile nation.

Sitting up, the Fire Lady raised her arms above her head and stretched. Her bedroom was spacious and richly-decorated; thick with gilt from the wide cornices to the tall mirrors on the wall to the high vaulted ceiling that was almost cathedral-like in appearance. The large canopied bed was situated on the same side as the opening to the balcony, just far enough away so that she would not be blinded by direct sunlight in the morning. Unlike Zuko, Mai was not a morning person. The wooden frames and panels of the bed, lacquered with red enamel, were decorated with carved dragons studded with ruby eyes. It was her favourite piece of furniture, for within its red lace curtains she could hide.

A huge golden insignia of the Fire Nation was set in the middle of the polished marble floors, adding a sense of heaviness to the room. The fireplace, situated at the back was enormous, tall enough for her to walk into. Simply put, this room, like the rest of the palace was gorgeous; however, Mai did not feel any pride in her surroundings. She had grown up living in splendid manors; she would as soon have felt pride in walking across the room without falling down. Neither did she feel pride in where she was or who she was: the Fire Lady. To be royalty in a nation ripe with civil strife was no grand accomplishment to boast about; nor had her wildest dreams ever envisioned such a disappointing fairy-tale existence.

Indeed, Mai found herself longing for simpler things, simpler times. She was an independent woman capable of great things; someone who wished to carry on her own exciting adventures. She'd had that for a brief time, but now she was a lordless lady sitting on a throne she never wanted with an absent husband far too wrapped up in his own honour and the honour of his nation to have ever considered bringing her with him on his travels. She had more of a connection with Zuko's double, Shin, than she had with the man she married only two short years ago. And those two years had flown by quickly—too quickly. They had barely been married before he took off, stealing into the night to become a dark hero like days long gone.

Letting out a deep sigh of boredom, Mai threw off the sheets and gracefully padded naked across the floor to her wardrobe. She paused in front of one of the gilded mirrors and briefly studied her features. She had never been a curvaceous woman, gifted with supple breasts and full hips, but she was long and lean and powerful. Taking in a deep breath, she turned and frowned. Something was missing: her blades. It had been so long but there used to be a time when she wasn't seen without her short blades and shurikens tied to her thighs and forearms.

She spun around and headed back to her bed, kneeling down to remove a secret panel. Inside were several holsters and five dozen short blades, give or take. Strapping the holsters to both thighs and inner forearms, Mai began to swiftly slip the blades in place. She walked back over to the mirror, feeling the cool metal rest against her warm skin, and studied herself once more. A small, rare smile graced her lips and she nodded, satisfied.

"Mai?" There was a brief knock on the door. "May I come in?" It was Shin calling to her from the adjacent bedroom, which he occupied alone.

Walking over to her wardrobe, Mai grabbed a red silk robe from the hanger and slipped it on, tying the belt securely around her waist. "Enter."

The door slowly slid open and in stepped Shin, her fake husband and Fire Lord for the past two years.

"Sorry to intrude," he said with a raspy voice, before bowing respectfully. "May I say that you look beautiful this morning, like every morning?"

Mai bit the inside of her cheek, trying to prevent the stubborn blush from blossoming on her cheeks. For some reason it was very difficult to remain her stoic, emotionless self in this man's presence. He had a charmingly annoying habit of making her feel like a schoolgirl with a crush.

Even how he wore his clothes was appealing. Dressed in a handsome embroidered gold and red silk coat with matching trousers and sash, he gracefully leaned against the doorframe. On his hips, looped over the sash, was a leather belt with an intricately decorated holster that sheathed a short black sword.

His amber eyes briefly appraised her body before turning away with a soft blush on his cheeks. He really was a lot like Zuko in some ways, Mai observed. In fact, it was amazing how much Shin looked and acted like the Fire Lord, albeit Shin was slightly taller, didn't sport a natural scar on the side of his face, and wasn't nearly as brooding. In fact he had a rather optimistic side to him that was somehow appealing to Mai. Who would have thought that age would change her mind-set?

"Can I help you, Zuko?" She rarely called him by his fake name in private, but she had to keep appearances in case someone was listening.

Shin, however, looked shocked at her question, or maybe the fact that she called him Zuko. Schooling his features, he pushed himself off the doorframe. He stood in the threshold of the room, looking at her hard, before taking in a deep breath and folding his arms across his broad chest.

Mai couldn't help but feel uneasy. Normally Shin was dressed the part of the Fire Lord, including wearing a made-up scar on the right side of his face. However, Mai could clearly see that Shin was sans scar this morning, and the normal good-natured twinkle in his eyes was nowhere to be seen. In fact, upon closer inspection Mai could see creases in his stunningly handsome face that she hadn't noticed before. He looked serious, dangerous.

Something was very wrong.

Suddenly, an indefinable sound came from outside—something like shouting—and Mai turned and then looked back at Shin. A terribly dark and guilty expression hung on his face and she knew. Turning on her heel, Mai took off out the other door and down the hall, running past bewildered chambermaids and servants. She swiftly reached the north-west aspect and peered over the edge, discovering the source of the racket in the courtyard below.

Her own entourage had been ambushed by men dressed as Fire Nation soldiers. But these soldiers were not loyal to the current Fire Lord. They were the Fifth Column, Zuko's bane, and it was already too late: they had effortlessly breached the security of the palace. In minutes they would occupy the inner building and take her prisoner. She would not let that happen. Her only hope was that the Kyoshi Warriors had received the message she had sent days earlier.

"Mai, it is too late," Shin said in a calming tone, as though he were coaxing a skittish animal. He slowly undid his belt with his sword, holding it out like a peace offering, and hung it on the dais behind him. "The palace is surrounded. Your servants and entourage are already being taken into custody."

Mai eyed the sword and felt the heavy, comforting weight of the knives strapped to her thighs and arms. "Fifth Column, then?" She knew Shin was too good to be true; men like him always were.

"I'm sorry to have deceived you this way, but I—" Shin clutched at his chest dramatically "—Mai, I love you."

With a roll of her eyes, Mai snorted humorously. "Save your words for someone who cares."

Shin dropped his hand, visibly taken aback, and met Mai's hard gaze. She looked oddly calm but her eyes were slightly out of focus and not on him; following her line of vision he could see that she was staring at his sword. Grimacing, he reached back and picked up the belt, pointing it at Mai accusingly.

"You must understand. I do this for the good of my nation—_our_ nation."

Mai's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Too many men in my life have chosen the 'greater good' of themselves and their nation over me."

Seething with the need to outwit he who had so easily made a fool of her, he who had so carelessly played with her heart, Mai swiftly withdrew two blades from her sleeves and aimed true. Shin narrowly avoided the knives with a side-sweep before letting loose a jet of fire at Mai's head. She dodged it easily and retrieved several small bo-shurikens from her thigh, sending an amazing volley of sharpened steel at the traitor's head. Ducking, Shin barely missed the whizzing blades; one even managed to slice through his shoulder. He recoiled, side-stepped, and threw his own volley of fire at the female ninja before retreating towards the throne room.

Mai took off in hot pursuit, darting forward with blinding speed. She wasn't about to let Shin escape and gather more men to take her down. She would not be taken prisoner in her own home. As she rounded the corner, the hilt of a sword swung out to meet her face. She had not expected Shin to incapacitate her with steel and she had not brought her hands up in time to properly block the blow.

Head ringing, Mai's world blurred. She struggled to throw off the stunning effects of the blow, silently cursing herself for her slow reflexes. It had been so long since she had trained or even had a good fight. She had refused the offer from the Kyoshi Warriors to become Fire Lady, something she had always regretted. Without constant training she had become complacent; all because of the supposed love of a man. And when he had left the love of another man who looked exactly like him took his place. Shin, who had seemed to care about her deeply—more than her real husband, she had believed—had ultimately betrayed her.

Whirling around, Mai threw blindly, determined to keep Shin away. She would not be taken so easily. After what seemed an eternity, her vision cleared and she looked up. The entire room was filled with a handful of soldiers, Fifth Columnists.

_This is about to get ugly_, Mai thought to herself, before reaching down her thigh to pull out two long bo-shurikens. She warily twirled the blades between her fingers as she eyed the approaching men.

A bolt of fire was aimed at her ribs, but she was nimble, jumping back and out of the way. Still, the force of the shot staggered her the slightest bit and she struck her shoulder against the wall. Her entire arm went numb, and she nearly lost her footing when something hooked her leg from behind and tried to topple her. Not one to be so easily bested, Mai threw her shurikens and flipped back up onto her feet, manoeuvring herself between the long table and her assailants.

Shin was nowhere in sight.

Growling to herself, Mai kicked the table out, trapping the soldiers against the wall.

"Get her!" one of them snarled.

Leaping up on the table, Mai delivered a hard, swift kick to the face of the man who had cried out. He dropped his sword as his head snapped back, connecting with the wall behind him, and she immediately tumbled forward, snatching the blade. Flipping back up onto her feet, she levelled the sword at the threats currently pinned to the wall in front of her as she scanned the room for Shin. He was still nowhere to be seen.

The cowardly bastard.

Another pair of soldiers entered the room and lunged at her. Spinning around, Mai was forced to return her attention to the difficulties at hand. She began to slash with her short sword, parrying the fire attack of the first solider while side-stepping the other's attack. Folding a pair of bo-shurikens into her free hand, she aimed them at the second soldier with deadly accuracy. A volley of fire soared past her head and her fingers touched more hidden blades, firing them off with an incredible flurry.

At the same moment Shin flashed into view, and Mai's eyes narrowed. She plunged her blade mercilessly into the soldier in front of her before pulling out and driving a fistful of shurikens into the men pinned behind her. Shin blinked in surprise at her ruthlessness, and Mai took advantage of the opportunity, jumping past the fallen men. She was spinning, slashing low, before cutting at Shin's knees.

Blood spurted out, spraying across her face as Shin's legs buckled beneath him. Mai hovered menacingly above him. This was her opportunity to strike out, to kill the wounded, traitorous dog kneeling before her. But she couldn't do it. Instead, she flipped the short sword in her hand and aimed downwards, striking the back of Shin's head with the hilt. He fell into a crumbled, bloody heap. Unconscious.

The room began to fill with more soldiers, and Mai slowly edged back towards the balcony. She would have to make a run for it, take to the roof, and escape. She didn't have enough knives on her to dispose of them all; and most of them appeared to be firebenders, who would eventually consume her with fire.

"Impressive as always, Mai."

Heart pounding against her ribs, Mai glanced up to see two female warriors enter the fray. Both were dressed in Kyoshi Warrior garb; one was small, lithe, wearing some grotesque mask on her face that resembled the Blue Spirit while the other was much bigger and not quite as flexible; however, she was strong and fast and her face was painted a pale white. Mai suddenly let out a breath she hadn't even known she had been holding.

The soldiers didn't know what hit them.

The entire fight scene became a blur of fans, blades, and swinging kicks. The larger, unmasked warrior moved into flanking position, depriving her enemies of retreat. She slammed her fans into face after face, sending the soldiers reeling into walls before grinding their heads into the marble floors with a satisfying crunch. Scraps of flesh broke away from their rattled bodies as painful moans filled the room.

The masked warrior was less direct in her assaults as she flipped and twirled in the air. Whirling aside, she danced through the erratic storm of fire before locating her targets, landing a series of precise pressure point moves that left each bender impotent. When the dust had finally settled, all three women stood above their prey and breathed heavily while gauging each other and the bloody scene with calculating eyes.

"Ah, Mai." The smaller warrior spoke first, lowering her mask to reveal the cherub-like face of Ty Lee. "Sorry we're late."

The other woman, fully donned in Kyoshi Warrior apparel, closed her fan before delivering the final blow to a wounded soldier at her feet, knocking him unconscious.

"Like I told you, Ty Lee," Suki said, breathing heavily as a crooked grin lit up her face, "Mai had this."

The bubbly acrobat reluctantly nodded in agreement, placing her hands on her hips while she surveyed the damage. Over a dozen Fifth Column soldiers were lying on the floor, rendered completely incapacitated. Not bad for a short fight.

"That was some rescue effort," Mai said mirthlessly, examining both Ty Lee and Suki with scepticism before tucking her shurikens back up her sleeves. "I don't know what sort of terror you're supposed to be, Ty Lee—" she pointed at the mask "—but please don't ever try to save me again looking like that. I'm liable to kill you before I know it's you."

Ty Lee looked down at her mask in hand and frowned. "I was trying to be incognito."

"Incognito doesn't suit you."

Ty Lee suddenly laughed and dropped the mask, lunging forward to embrace the taller woman. Mai couldn't help but smile one of her rare smiles and folded the smaller warrior into her arms.

"It is good to see you two," Mai said, holding Ty Lee out at arm's length before regarding the other woman, who stood slightly off to the side. "And Suki—" she pointed at Kyoshi Warrior's swollen belly "—you are far too pregnant to be doing this."

"That's what I told her!"

Suki stubbornly folded her arms across her increasingly large bosom. "When have I ever missed a fight? And besides—" she pointed at Mai's shredded silk robe "—aren't you a bit too naked?"

Mai glanced down at her wardrobe with a slight frown. She felt no embarrassment fighting nude, but she wasn't entirely sure that her friends felt the same way. She would have to find something to cover herself. However, Suki was already on that, picking up one of the soldier's cloaks and tossing it to the taller woman. Her grey eyes met Mai's, softening in the morning light.

"We got your message and came as quickly as we could."

Mai's frown disappeared and she threw the cloak over her shoulders, offering Suki a slight bow. It was a comforting thought to know that some people never changed, that these were women whom Mai could always rely upon. Even long after drifting away from the Kyoshi Warriors, Mai knew that they would always be there for her, that they could always be counted on. The thought alone warmed her heart.

Now, unfortunately, was not the time for heartfelt reunions. If these men—those that were still alive—didn't wake up soon then other soldiers were bound to come eventually. Only one option remained: they had to escape the palace.

"So can I expect the same flawless execution with your escape plan that you had with your rescue effort?"

"Hey, we have a plan!"

Mai looked sceptically at Ty Lee before turning her gaze to Suki, who bowed her head sheepishly.

"Yeah, we have a plan."

It really wasn't much of a plan. Since receiving word from Mai about the possible planned Fifth Column coup two days earlier, Suki and Ty Lee didn't have enough time to gather the other Kyoshi Warriors let alone devise some great rescue attempt. What it had boiled down to was finding Mai somehow, freeing her somehow, then hoping she wasn't injured too badly so they could make a hasty getaway. Minor problems, no doubt, for heroines in an epic tale, but Suki had wished there had been more time for real planning, not just what she and Ty Lee hammered out while rushing to the Fire Nation capital as fast as their ship could travel.

"We better get going," Suki cautioned, checking to make sure the coast was clear. "Ty Lee?"

The small warrior nodded and ran back out to retrieve a bag. Re-entering the room, she pulled out some non-descript clothing. "Here." She handed the clothes over to Mai. "We have a disguise for you."

Suki and Ty Lee then took off their own Kyoshi apparel, stealing cloaks from two unconscious soldiers.

"We can escape through the tunnels," Suki said in a low voice, throwing on the Fifth Column clothes. "It looks like they don't know of its existence cause that's how we got in here unnoticed. We have a ship docked at the harbour. We can make our way north."

Mai quickly changed and followed the other two girls to the secret tunnels below the palace. As they went she could hear the kitchen staff shouting, and she lingered at one of the windows. Gazing out below, she could see Fifth Column soldiers file into the courtyard; they were only moments from entering the palace itself.

A light rain began to fall and she scowled at the thick black clouds gathering in the sky. Soon they began to obscure the pale sun already feebly crawling up the horizon. It was light rain now, but it would soon thicken like the clouds. Dark, threatening, and unavoidable.

"So the civil war has finally begun," Suki stated solemnly, briefly looking past Mai to regard the dismal scene below.

Mai shut out the scene and swiftly turned away, making haste to the hidden underground passage; their only means of escape. Thanks to their cloaks they avoided detection, managing to steal down into the network of tunnels below the palace. Using the torch Suki had left behind when she and Ty Lee had first entered the palace, the pregnant warrior navigated the trio through the intricate paths to the hidden harbour. Under the cloak of the dark storm brewing outside and the massive confusion within the palace, they would find their escape.

_But at what cost?_ Mai asked herself. Was it right for her to leave her staff and guards behind? So foolishly had she placed her trust in Shin when she should have been more cautious, more suspicious. She had let Zuko down; she had let the Fire Nation down.

"We need to send word to Aang and Zuko," Ty Lee whispered, as they neared the light at the end of the tunnel.

"First we need to get out of here safely," Suki muttered. She was already outside, tending to the small fishing boat. She began to undo the ropes that anchored the ship to the dock and Ty Lee came over to help, working on the other end.

"Right." Ty Lee grunted, throwing off the last rope before helping the very pregnant Suki on board. "Plus, we don't even know where Aang and Zuko are—do we?"

Taking Ty Lee's hand, Suki lifted herself up onto the boat and shook her head. "No. Sokka, Toph, and General Iroh are searching for Aang as we speak."

Mai tuned out the rest of Suki's words, glancing back up the face of the hill where the palace stood. Though the only sound carrying in the wind was the roar of the tumultuous ocean, Mai swore that she could hear cries from above. The palace itself looked to be soaked in shades of grey even though it was still early morning. The dense black clouds hung heavily overhead like an omen, blotting out the sun as they swelled with thickening rain. The downpour was immediate, and Mai quickly raised the hood of her cloak before turning around and leaping on board the ship. The three women then heaved forth together with the oar, pushing the boat out to sea.

"So what are we going to do?" Ty Lee shook out large beads of water from her cloak before assisting Suki with the sails. "How do we get a hold of them?"

Mai immediately took hold of the wheel and began to steer the ship eastwards. She knew that once the Fifth Column discovered her missing they would anticipate her fleeing north to Phanom Rung. It was the shortest distance to travel and the easiest place to hide. But there was no guarantee that someone wouldn't already be waiting there for her or that Iroh and the others were even there.

What they needed to do was regroup with the Kyoshi Warriors, and for that they would have to travel east. Hiding in plain sight in the Fire Nation would be the last place the Fifth Column would expect to find her.

"I know how."

**.**

**.**

**.**

THE SUN STOOD little more than halfway down the horizon by the time Iroh clambered up the well-worn snaking path to the top of the steep-sided cliff. The mossy top was clear of brush and flat, if far from level; a rough stone table one-hundred paces long and broad. High above, he was given a spectacular bird's eye view of the land, stretching for kilometres over a patchwork quilt of forests, pastures, and long-abandoned groves. Far too many browns and sere yellows were mixed in with the hundred shades of green, crying out for rain in the sun-baked heat.

Despite the faint mist of dust in the air, he could see far and wide. The land, though riddled with knobby hills and scattered dense thickets, was relatively flat. The surface woodland itself proved to be strange and disquieting with an endless brown and green hall of round trunks that rose like crumbling pillars out of some grand hall of days long gone. On the other side of the cliff was the expansive view of the rolling sea, shimmering a soft blue with the dying glow of the sun.

It was the perfect location to scout for approaching enemies, and Iroh was quite certain that someone was out there; he was certain all afternoon. Perhaps the Fifth Column had followed Zuko's messenger hawk that had arrived at the villa the other day. Perhaps not. Regardless, Iroh believed in being cautious; he knew it was best to trust his instincts and his instincts told him there was danger nearby.

Aside from the endless blue-green sea and the mighty trees below, there were all manners of birds and small animals dwelling in the heart of Phanom Rung. After a half-dozen heart-stopping starts, Iroh was soon able to identify a number of discrete bird calls, insect noises, and animal sounds, relegating them to the realm of the insignificant. But after twenty minutes the familiar sounds of the forest began to still. Out of the corner of his eye he caught motion, back down the cliff near the small river basin where the stone gave way to brush and a few small trees. Fifty paces away, a man dressed in plain colours stepped out into the clearing and raised a bow, smoothly drawing the fletchings to his cheek. Then everything seemed to happen all at once.

Moving quickly, Iroh hauled around, watching the archer adjust his sight to follow. How he had even spotted him up so high, Iroh did not know. He seized his inner chi and began a swift, precise volley of fire at the archer when he suddenly noticed a second man perched on the limb of the highest tree in the forest. One archer, one scout. Turning back around, Iroh made his way to his real target: the man with the higher ground. Fireballs the size of his fists struck out at the scout, causing him to leap off the burning branch onto the top of the cliff, sending his own firestorm Iroh's way.

Now the two were on equal footing.

From below the archer let fly his steel-tipped arrows. The piercing whistles would have been enough to throw off any experienced fighter, but Iroh was exceptional. He flinched only a hair, feeling the wind of the arrow's passage against his cheek before punching down an incredible flurry of fire. The archer screamed in pain as his arm spun away, hand still gripping his bow. The other hand took his left leg at the knee and he fell, shrieking.

Iroh then turned his attention back to the scout, who was already churning out a deadly attack. The general easily side-stepped the forward assault before reaching out with his fist to deliver a flame-fuelled blow to the man's solar plexus. Pin-wheeling, the scout fell backwards and over the edge. As the enemy fell, Iroh quickly manoeuvred himself down the face of the cliff before rounding on his wounded foes.

Both men were bloody. Now that Iroh could get a proper look at them, he could see that they were dressed in colours of blue, white, and gold; however, only the scout wore the Fifth Column regalia and only the scout appeared to be a firebender. The archer, who wore plain clothes, looked to be a mercenary for hire; someone who most likely knew the area well enough and was hired to assist the scout. The archer's leg was currently red and swollen, a deep gashing line of blisters where Iroh had struck him. Still clutching his leg, he looked up at Iroh with terrified eyes, frantically apologising.

"I had no idea that we were sent to find you, General Iroh," he babbled, while the scout issued him a scathing look. "If I had've known, I would have never agreed to work for this bastard here!"

The scout, who clutched at his right shoulder in pain, sat up in defiance at the archer's vitriolic words. It was obvious that his arm was broken and shoulder dislocated from the fall. He was in intense pain, and he was the man Iroh wanted to deal with—the one who had been given the mission to come to Phanom Rung. However, the scout did not look willing to talk like the paid mercenary. If anything, the foolish young man had a defiant look in his eyes, like a man wanting to show the superior warrior that he was unafraid, even if he was ready to soil himself. But Iroh knew what kind of man this scout was, that he was the kind of man who really wanted to run and abandon what dignity he had not already tossed at his feet. Simply put, he was no match for the Dragon of the West and he knew it. He had little choice but to bow down and surrender.

"I will tell you nothing!" he spat, desperately holding on to his last shred of dignity. It was a poor attempt at defiance, for Iroh could readily see the fear and weakness in his eyes. "I would rather die than help the uncle of that traitorous Zu—"

"Silence!"

Many would have flinched to hear such a cold tone from the general, and this Fifth Column scout was no exception. Iroh was the picture of what general was supposed to be: strong and commanding with a bold, fearless face, a strong chin, and waves of white at his temples. Even his voice, deep and mellifluous, fit the image. His dark amber eyes surveyed the scout before him with harsh scrutiny; though, beneath that carefully crafted veil were the eyes of a wise man silently calculating, beholding the situation as one would survey a bloody battlefield: deep in thought with cool detachment.

Overhead, a dark shadow fell across the villa, and Iroh glanced skywards. A large white object streaked across the sky and the general let out a sigh of relief at the all-too-familiar sight of Avatar Aang's sky bison coming into view. Barely clearing the treetops, the giant bison dove towards the groves, gulping whole shrivelled fruits in its gigantic maw as it levelled toppled trees in its wake before landing next to the river's basin. The komodo rhinos immediately moved away, giving the sky bison a wide berth as it dunked its face into the stream and drank greedily.

"What have we got here?" Sokka artfully leapt off Appa's saddle and slowly perambulated about the prisoners, lightly appraising them before turning to Iroh. "Fifth Columnists?"

Iroh motioned to the archer. "This one is simply a mercenary for hire. However, this one—" his hand swept outwards, pointing to the other man holding his broken arm "—is a Fifth Column scout. I believe he was sent here to find me or something else—though what that something or someone else is I do not know."

The ground suddenly rumbled beneath them and both Iroh and Sokka glanced up. Toph had made a set of stone steps for her and Hahn to climb down from Appa's saddle.

"Nice work, Pops," Toph congratulated, eventually returning the earth to its original condition. "You caught yourself a spy."

Sokka stared at the prisoners with keen eyes like blue ice, cold and calculating. He then turned to Iroh, leading him away from the group and out of earshot. "Do they know anything about Zuko and the fake on the throne?"

"I didn't want to say anything in their presence, but I believe so." Iroh looked grim. "At least I think the Fifth Column know about the imposter on the throne. It makes no sense for a scout and an archer to come out all this way for me unless something happened at the palace."

"A coup?" Sokka rubbed thoughtfully at his chin. "Either Shin was discovered or—"

"Or Shin is a double agent," Iroh cut in darkly. "We need to find out which."

"Agreed." Turning around, Sokka took a step towards the prisoners and cracked his knuckles. "I guess it's interrogation time."

The scout flinched at the mention of interrogation. His face seemed to drain of all its blood and his mouth gaped as wide as it would go, as if he had wanted to scream but had forgot how. "B-but I don't even know anything!" he protested. "I'm just a scout."

"Right," Sokka muttered, unconvinced.

"W-wait!" The scout pointed at Iroh. "How could anyone expect an archer and a scout to take down the Dragon of the West?"

Iroh turned to look at Sokka, folding his hands up his sleeves. "He speaks truth there."

"Maybe." Sokka frowned. "Or maybe he never expected to find you here; maybe he expected to find something or someone else, and I want to know what—or who."

"I was just sent here to see who was at the villa. That's all. I swear!"

Drawing a dagger from the belt on his hips, Sokka took a menacing step towards the prisoner. "Well, we'll find out soon enough if you're telling the truth."

"Stop it!" In an instant Aang was standing in front of Sokka, blocking his path to the prisoners.

"Aang," Sokka breathed sharply, "we don't have time for your peaceful negotiations. We have to find out what he knows now."

"No, Sokka. Not this way."

"Aang?"

"I said NO!" Aang's eyes narrowed, his nose almost touching Sokka's. He had made his decision; he would give no quarter. "You—" he turned and pointed down at the archer "—you are free to go."

The man merely looked dumbfounded before painfully rising to his feet. He would not question the Avatar's mercy. "T-thank you, Avatar."

"Do you have a ship nearby?" Aang asked the scout, but when he refused to reply the archer answered for him.

"Yes, it's not far from here."

"Good." Aang nodded. "You can treat your wounds on the boat."

"Take the rhinos," Iroh suggested, pointing at the large beasts. "It'll be faster for you, and I'd rather not leave them here, so take them with you on the ship.

The archer nodded thankfully to the Avatar and the general before limping over to the komodo rhinos and untying their reins.

"This is stupid!" Sokka pulled at his hair in frustration before pointing at the wounded archer. "Now he will go tell the Fifth Column everything."

"No, I won't! I swear!" He waved his hands defensively in front of his face before letting out a hiss of pain. "I don't even know how to get a hold of them, and even if I did I am done working for them."

Sokka let out a deep sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Alright, fine. Go." He dropped his hand to point a long, accusing finger at the archer. "But if I find out that you ratted us out—"

Not waiting for the warrior to finish his sentence, the archer painfully mounted one of the rhinos while leading the other. Once they disappeared down the path heading back out towards the sea, everyone turned to regard the Avatar with curious eyes.

"So are you going to let this one go, too?" Toph pointed to the scout who was still sitting on the ground, and Aang shook his head.

"No. The archer knows nothing about the Fifth Column, but this guy—" he pointed down with his staff "—this guy does."

"I'm telling you I don't know anything!" the scout protested in vain, but none of them were buying that old excuse.

Suddenly, Toph moved into stance, lifting the ground beneath the prisoner's feet and forcing him to stand. Trapping his entire body in rock, she forced the scout to remain still as she reached out and put a hand on his chest. Sokka, in turn, took in a deep breath, levelling his blue eyes on the prisoner.

"Why were you sent here?"

"To look for the general."

"Why?"

"To keep an eye on his movements." The scout swallowed hard, stealing a glance at Iroh. "To see if he was in contact with his nephew."

"He's lying," Toph stated darkly, causing the scout to blink at her in surprise.

"No, I'm not!"

"So he's not here for the general, but he knows about Zuko." Sokka scratched his chin, beginning to piece the puzzle together. "You were sent here to find someone else, then?"

"No, just the general."

Toph shook her head again and then tightened the earth that held the prisoner in place, driving stones into his injured shoulder. The scout screamed in pain, and Aang was about to advance when Iroh put a hand on the airbender's shoulder.

"Who were you sent to look for?" Sokka leaned forward, pressing his nose against the scout's. The man was panting in considerable pain. "Answer the question and the pain will stop."

Just then Toph adjusted the pressure, and the sound of crushing bones filled the air. The scout screamed loudly, his entire body convulsing as tears pooled in the corners of his eyes.

"Toph!"

"Tell us!" Sokka roared, ignoring Aang's protests. "Tell us who you were looking for and we will release you."

"MAI!" the man yelled, spittle flying from his mouth. "I was sent to find the Fire Lady."

Sokka immediately signalled for Toph to stop; his brow creased in thought. Loosening the slack, the earthbender kept the prisoner pinned and in pain, encouraging him to continue talking. She wasn't about to let him go just yet.

"Why are you looking for Mai?"

The scout panted, his face twisted in agony. "I was told that the Fire Lady might escape to Phanum Rung."

"Escape?"

The stones pressed tighter.

"We were scheduled to seize the palace this morning," the scout said quickly, hissing in pain. "Shin was supposed to take her prisoner." He swallowed back a sob. "In case—in case she escaped, I was sent here to wait for her and take her back to the palace. And that's it—" his uninjured shoulder slumped forward in defeat "—that's all I know."

Sokka angrily breathed out through his nose and looked to Toph, who was nodding slightly. The scout was telling the truth. Toph then released the earth, letting the scout fall to the ground with a listless thud. He let out a sharp yelp of pain before clutching onto his arm, rocking slightly to and fro.

"We have to find out more," Sokka said in a darkly thick voice, reaching down to yank the prisoner up by the elbow. "And you are going to tell us everything."

"NO!"

Sokka turned around to see Aang standing directly behind him. He was breathing heavily with a sunken look to him. Then his grey eyes darkened, narrowing dangerously on the warrior, demanding that he stop what he was doing.

"But, Aang—"

"I said NO, Sokka! No more!"

Everyone went quiet and a heavy silence hung overhead. Tempers flared, patience wore thin. They were all tired and agitated and seemingly no closer to finding Katara and Zuko than they were several weeks ago.

"I have to agree with Avatar Aang," said Iroh, breaking the silence with his commanding yet gentle voice. "This man is a low-level member; hardly someone to be highly informed of the group's inner workings. Even if we torture him, he cannot give us the information we seek."

The general was right. This man was merely a scout, someone sent to spy and observe. He had no idea what the Fifth Column's real agenda was or where Katara was being kept. It was beyond his rank and scope.

"But we can't just let him go." Sokka let go of the scout's arm in disgust. "He'll return to the Fifth Column and tell them everything." He took in a deep breath and nodded resolutely. "I say we tie him up and leave him here."

The scout looked terrified at this decision while Aang looked downright appalled. "That would kill him, Sokka!"

"It's no less than he deserves!" the Water Tribe warrior barked. "Remember, this guy is part of the same group that kidnapped Katara!"

Aang looked down. Sokka was right. It was the only way to give themselves time to find Katara. They would have to leave him behind.

"It's true that he knows next to nothing about the Fifth Column's plans, but he is a scout." Iroh gently tapped the side of his nose. "Scouts are sent all over the world to track unfamiliar lands."

"That's ridiculous," the scout scoffed unconvincingly. "I hired that archer to help me find this place."

Iroh slid his hands up his sleeves again and began to pace. "That's what I thought at first, but you knew exactly where to find me, where to position yourself and the archer. You only hired him to help ambush your target because you were not confident in your own fighting skills. Plus, you needed someone to retreat to the ship in case either of you were captured."

"Is this true?"

The scout stared long and hard at Iroh before buckling under the pressure of the day's events. His bruised body sagged forward and he nodded in defeat.

"We must bring him with us," Iroh said. "He is our only guide."

Aang lowered his staff. "I agree with General Iroh. Even if he refuses to give us information on the Fifth Column or doesn't know where Katara is being kept, we can use him as a tracker. Wherever Katara is being kept must be dangerous, and we could use a man of his skills."

"He could double-cross us," Sokka supplied in a cautious tone.

"He very well could, but I'm willing to take that chance if it means finding Katara safe."

Sokka nodded, placing a large hand on Aang's shoulder. "I'll take that chance, too."

"Me too," Toph agreed, grabbing Aang's other shoulder and squeezing it affectionately.

Aang smiled at his friends. "Then it's agreed. Hahn?" He looked to the warrior and motioned to the prisoner. "Can you tend to his wounds and seat him on Appa?"

Hahn bowed informally and turned towards the prisoner, carefully helping him to his feet. As he took the scout over to Appa to set his bones and dress his arm, the rest of them gathered around in conference.

"Even with this scout to guide us," Toph began, "we still don't know where Katara is."

"Yes, we do."

Everyone looked up at Iroh, who was smiling mischievously. Bringing his fingers to his lips, he whistled loudly. After a moment there was a piecing cry and the sound of wings flapping. A hawk swooped down from the top of the cliff and landed on Iroh's outstretched arm.

"My nephew's personal hawk arrived here the other day." He patted its head gently. "I was waiting for you all to return so I could send a message back and we could follow it."

Suddenly all the sorrow lifted from their faces and was replaced with hope.

"Did Zuko leave a message?" Aang asked, hopeful that there was news of Katara.

"Yes. My nephew managed to infiltrate the prison, one of my father's internment camps, and is keeping Katara safe."

Aang let out a breathless sigh of relief. "Thank the spirits."

"But they need our help now," Sokka added seriously, "especially with the possible situation going on in the Fire Nation capital."

Iroh nodded. "I agree. The sooner the better."

"Alright, let's get going," Aang said, feeling genuine optimism for the first time in days. "General Iroh, please release Zuko's hawk.

Iroh nodded once more and took out a scroll of parchment from inside his robes. Fitting the scroll into the canister, he was about to give the hawk its mission when Toph suddenly stepped forward and placed a hand on Iroh's forearm, hissing at them all to shut up.

"Wait! I hear something." She pointed up at the sky. "It's another one of those noisy birds."

A hawk appeared in the east ahead, screeching as it skimmed over the treetops. It twisted and turned, following the curves of the land until it spotted its objective and dived low. Sokka lifted his forearm, signalling the bird to land. It did so with a great fanfare of flapping wings and Sokka lifted his fingers to the small canister tied around its back. Popping off the lid, he removed a rolled piece of parchment from inside and began to unfurl it.

"It's a letter from Mai," he said, reading the message.

"What does it say?"

"She says that the puppet Fire Lord Zuko put on the throne as a decoy is actually a Fifth Column infiltrator."

Aang frowned. "Is she okay?"

"She says she's safe with Suki and Ty Lee. Suki?" Sokka shook the parchment in frustration. "Suki, you stubborn woman!"

"Go on," Toph encouraged. "Don't leave us hanging."

Growling to himself, Sokka continued reading:

"They've fled the palace and have taken refuge in the village of Jang Hui. They are going to get in contact with the rest of the Kyoshi Warriors and the White Lotus. They await orders from Zuko or General Iroh or you, Aang, should any of you intercept this message."

Sokka finished reading and the gang grew silent.

"What does this mean?" Toph asked, looking from Sokka to Iroh.

Sokka, in turn, met Iroh's gaze for a moment before looking away, a grimace settling on his lips. Toph and Aang, however, looked to Iroh for answers and the general quietly bowed his head, as if in silent prayer, before collecting his thoughts.

"It means that civil war in the Fire Nation has finally begun."


	13. Sleeper Cell

SHE WAS DROWNING in a desert with no name; her lips and fingers stained from cherries she did not know how to eat because she had never eaten cherries before. So how she supposed to know that if you bit into them they bled like tiny purple hearts? Tiny purple hearts that tasted of copper and salt.

How was she supposed to know to know that if you bit into them, you'd find a tiny stone that would crack your teeth and leave you bleeding? Purple hearts bleeding inside her mouth and dribbling down her lips and chin, clogging her throat until she could no longer breathe.

As the cherries bled, the sun continued to burn. She shivered in the heat, convinced there was a poison spreading through her veins or maybe that poison was her soul. The cold heat would not let her go; it weighed her down until she gasped for air with the cherry pit still lodged in her throat. She gasped and gasped, as if the air knew all the answers, but the air wouldn't tell her anything. It was angry and she was guilty, and she was afraid it was too late all the same.

But the breeze was merciful, lifting her back up onto her feet as her hands went for her throat, clawing at that damnable purple heart that would not let her breathe. And suddenly she began to wonder what Aang would _think_ if he saw her like this, what Zuko would _do_ if he could see her now.

But Zuko was stained, stained by the purple-hearted cherries on her fingers. The cherry-tears were dripping down his face from his eyes, already drying black and cracked. His hair was black like ink and wild and his fingers curled out towards her like hooks ready to capture her spirit when it came out. But she wouldn't let it come out; no, she wouldn't, though it hurt so damn much to keep it all hidden inside.

And now she was retching, coughing up the poison within her, and she was sure her spirit was leaving too because it felt like something was missing, like she had lost something dear she would never get back. And she called out to him, pleading for him not to go where she could not follow. But Zuko was always with her, holding her without touch; because he was above her, underneath her, all around her, and inside her, like the sky and the earth and the sea and he was the fire burning in her soul.

But the cherries in his eyes would not stop bleeding and the stone lodged in her throat would not break. And so she gasped for air because the air still knew all the answers but Zuko was the air now, and he had always known the answers somehow, somehow. But he couldn't tell them to her. No, not now. Not any—

**.**

"KATARA?"

A voice called out to her, like a song lulling sailors back home. Or was it to their doom? For a moment Katara felt diminished, as though she was sliding from her own womb, as if she were giving too much of herself away. But the regret was fleeting, and the voice persisted; familiar now, but urgent and so very insistent.

"Katara!" Zuko's hand was on her back, awkwardly shaking her awake.

Katara's head snapped up, chestnut curls cascading down her shoulders. She blinked sleepy eyes open, drifting in and out of focus. A few seconds later she realised that she was seated at a table in the interrogation cell, her wrists bound uncomfortably behind her back. There was drool on her chin and her cheek felt numb and smooshed. She hadn't the foggiest idea how she had got there or how long she had been asleep, or how long Zuko had been there with her.

"What are you doing in here?" His voice was low, rasping softly against her ear.

"I—" she blinked slowly "—the guards brought me here after they took Kala and Ouji away." Yes, that seemed like the most reasonable answer.

"Why?"

She furrowed her brow in deep thought. Why had they brought her here? She hadn't done anything to warrant questioning or punishment. She was on a different floor when the fight broke out.

"Have you spoken with anyone?"

"I-I don't think so. They brought me here and I fell asleep. I had this strange dream about—" She stopped abruptly when she felt his golden eyes focus so intently on her. "Never mind. Why are you here?"

Zuko bent forward and nimbly undid her binds with a flick of his wrist before taking the seat next to her. Slipping off his mask with a weary sigh, he regarded her critically for a moment while she rubbed at her stiff and bruised wrists.

"I met with the twins earlier." He glanced down at the mask on the table, looking anywhere but at her. "They told me to finish interrogating you."

"Oh . . ." Katara's voice trailed off, and she swallowed hard. "Are you here—are you here to torture me?"

A dark shadow passed over his face and he paused, the muscles contracting in his jaw. Finally, he shook his head and the darkness she was so sure was there a second ago had vanished. Relieved, she let out a breath she hadn't even known she had been holding and rubbed the back of her neck.

Why was she so afraid?

"No, we can manipulate our memories from earlier," he said thickly, pushing back on his chair to create some distance between them. "That gives us a day; plus, I don't think they'll be talking with you tonight anyway."

"Well, that's good at least." Her voice was so quiet that it did not seem like her own. "Will they—" Katara folded her hands on her lap "—will they be interrogating you?"

Zuko became silent; his own face an expressionless mask. He stared down at the table. Katara didn't take this as a good sign, but then he suddenly glanced up, as though startled. He stared past her, as if she wasn't there at all; his ears turned towards the wall as if listening for a sound, no sound that she could hear. It unnerved her.

_My soul is black with blood, and damned._

Katara jumped slightly in her seat. What was that? She anxiously leaned forward, studying Zuko's face. His lips hadn't moved, but she was sure she had heard his voice. Had she just heard Zuko's thoughts in her head? That couldn't be possible.

"Zuko—" her voice wavered in her throat "—what's wrong?"

"Nothing." His voice was flat and empty, but he kept his gaze fixed on that unknown spot in the distance, as though mesmerised. "I just thought I heard something."

"What?" Katara glanced around suspiciously, and then whispered, "Is it a guard?"

"No . . ." His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat and his fingers curled tightly around the mask. "No, it's—it's something I haven't heard in a long time."

His normally expressive eyes were vacant, and Katara's mouth suddenly went dry. Something was wrong; something was definitely wrong.

"Zuko?"

"It's nothing!" he said sharply, and then shook his head. "It's nothing, really." His voice was softer now, eyes once again alert and focussed. "I'll have the guards escort you back to your cell—Kala too."

"What about Ouji?"

Zuko stood up and began adjusting his gloves in a perfunctory manner. "I will release him later tonight so he can provide a distraction during dinner." He picked up the rope that had been used to bind Katara's wrists and studied it. "I plan to attend this group meeting with you tonight."

"Good." Katara nodded, letting out a deep sigh of relief. Yes, this was very good. "But how will you be able to attend?"

"You leave that to me." He reached down to retie her bonds. "Ouji and I came up with a plan."

Before Zuko could bring her wrists together, Katara was already reaching up to grasp onto his forearm tightly. His hands stilled and he turned to look down at her hand on his arm, blinking confusedly.

"Be careful, Zuko," she warned, meaning it in two ways: careful of what he said and careful in a way she could not explain, not even to herself. "Please, just—just be careful."

She didn't know why she felt so apprehensive at this moment, but Zuko seemed to have sensed it. His eyes searched her face for a moment, as if he had understood some of her deeper meaning, and he nodded slowly.

"I will try." He placed his hand over hers and offered her a half-grin, almost the same awkward grin she remembered from their youth, but his effort was plainly obvious. "Everything will be all right."

He squeezed her hand once and let go, picking up his mask from the table and slipping it into place. Katara let her own hand drop and fall to her side, bringing both hands behind her back so that he could tie them. When he was done, she watched him turn towards the door. His words were still echoing in her head. Though they were spoken with the intent to comfort her, Katara couldn't help but feel afraid—afraid for the both of them.

**.**

**.**

**.**

THE GREAT SPANGLED ocean of darkness swirled around her, seeming to move while she stood still. A fish at home in that ocean, Kala swam confidently without really needing to think about it any more than the fish did.

The flickering lights in her mind were dreams, maybe all the dreams of all the people of the world. She could never be sure, but she could never be too careful either. For in those singular lights she had glimpsed things that she could never credit as her own, not even in her nightmares—those always seemed washed in reds and blues or murky greys like deep shadows. Instead, these were worlds filled with impossible things; knowledge she could access at great costs.

It was best to avoid these worlds, these lights that called out to her; for it was all too easy to lose herself in them. Peering into others' dreams was like being surrounded by broken mirrors; everything was fragmented and whirling and there was no way to tell up from down. It made her want to empty her stomach, and that was no way to wake oneself.

But none of that was a concern for her in this moment, as her own dream world was beginning to shift, skewing until the blank canvas of her mind exploded into a dozen flashing lights. Each light held absolutely still around her like shimmering stars frozen in clear black ice. One light looked identical to the next, but Kala knew each was different, each leading to another's dreams, another's thoughts. In the distance she could spot Katara's light swirling in the white noise of her mind, and she smiled.

It had become easier over the years, distinguishing one dream, one dreamer, from the next. She could pick them out like flat stones in a shallow pond. And it was in this limitless pond that she finally came across Zuko's light, a slightly muted glow unlike any other. When she reached out for it, she was suddenly repelled, as though his very dreams were being guarded. It piqued her that she could not see or feel him; that he could somehow shut her out like a stone wall. But instead of venturing further, she let his star pass her by.

_Just another night of futility_, she thought to herself. But Kala knew she could not reach him this way, not now; it would be too dangerous for the both of them.

As if on cue, two red stars pulsated in the distance, but Kala dared not draw near. The twins' powers were indeed frightening, and their hold on Zuko was strong. Thus Kala had to be careful; for they might even be where she was right now, ready to swoop down and haul her out of her own dream or, worse yet, go into Katara's or Zuko's.

Kala doubted she could stop them, not the both of them together. If they forced her into one of their dreams, she would be at their mercy. Holding onto oneself inside someone else's dream was hard enough when the dreamer was an ordinary person with no idea what was going on; but with experienced mindbenders like Yin and Yang, as aware of dreams as the waking world, it would be damn near impossible.

Instead, Kala would have to be what she normally was: patient. She would seize her opportunity when it presented itself and draw them out of Zuko's mind like drawing poison from a wound. For Yin and Yang were most assuredly a poison corrupting and controlling from within. Kala was as sure of this as she was of her own existence. To what end they sought to control Zuko, she did not know. But what truly made her worry was that if they were controlling him, they could know who he was; and if they knew, why hadn't they done anything? It was perplexing, and not at all to Zuko's favour.

Suddenly Zuko's light flickered a dull red, and Kala frowned. The light began to swell, breathing in and out, until what had been a distant star had now become a full blood-red moon. A spark of fear lit inside her. Touching a dream, even just peeking inside, was easy—a finger to the surface of water, a touch so light that the water rose to the finger but the surface was never broken—yet it was still dangerous to get lost inside, and it was always of her own volition. She was a mindbender, and a mindbender sought thoughts and dreams; they never sought her.

_"My loyalty is yours," the light spoke softly. "I give you my everything."_

Kala winced and pulled away, willing the dream to return to its place. After a moment Zuko's red light began to obey, changing back to its muted white glow as it swirled backwards through the black space between the stars. Tiny lights flickering alone on the cosmic horizon. And now everything was fading, dreams too, drawing closer to the vast, hollow void of no return.

**.**

**.**

**.**

KATARA AWOKE FROM her nap to the sound of guards shouting outside her cell door.

"That damn brat! He's escaped from his cell again!"

"And we just let him out of the coolers this afternoon!"

"He's going to pay this time. There's no way Kenzo will let him get away with this with Yin-sama and Yang-sama here."

"You'd think, especially since everyone is being called out to find the brat."

"Hey you! You're the new guard that arrived today—Jengo, Jengi? Whatever. Guard the waterbender's cell."

"What about the prisoners in the mess hall?"

"They're locked in. We've already got a guard stationed outside."

"C'mon. Let's go before Kenzo gets on our ass."

The sound of boots scraping the floor, shuffling away in haste, caused Katara's hackles to rise. She quickly jumped out of her futon and ran over to the other side of her cell, the side that was connected to Kala's, and peered through the crack.

"Kala?" she whispered hoarsely, hands braced against the wall. "Kala!"

There was no answer and no sign of old waterbender inside. Where had they taken her? Before Katara could even move away from the wall, the door to her prison cell opened. She instinctively lifted herself to her feet and moved into a defensive position. Even though she had no water to bend and knew she couldn't possibly reveal her bloodbending ability before their escape, Katara was determined to fight whoever dared to lay a hand on her.

The hooded guard came into view, slipping through the opening with soft footsteps, and Katara's shoulders tensed. She clenched her hands into fists, feeling the adrenaline pumping through her veins.

"What do you want?"

The guard stood still, cocking his head to the side as though listening for someone outside, and spoke softly, "I'm escorting you to dinner."

"Dinner?" Katara blinked slowly in confusion, before lowering her hands. "Who are you?"

The guard lowered his hood, and Katara tensed again. Though he had removed his hood, his face was still hidden by a black cowl, all except his eyes. Squinting, Katara took a step forward and her eyes widened in shock when she saw the familiar golden eyes and the mop of unruly black hair. When he finally removed the cowl, revealing the tell-tale scar, Katara lunged forward, folding into his already open arms.

"Spirits, Zuko," she mumbled, her face buried in his chest. "Don't scare me like that."

"I told you I had a plan." His arms relaxed around her shoulders and back. They embraced quietly for a moment until Zuko suddenly stiffened and took a step back. He held her out at arm's length. "We haven't much time. We had better go."

"What about Kala?" Katara glanced sideways at Kala's cell, while Zuko rearranged his cowl and hood, concealing his face once again.

"She's already waiting in the mess hall with the others."

Without any more hesitation, Zuko swiftly led Katara outside her cell. For the first minute the halls were remarkably silent and empty. Occasionally, she would hear distant shouting or running footsteps in the twisting, winding passages that threaded their way through the massive prison structure, but not once did they run into another guard. It appeared that most of them, if not all, were outside; however, Katara couldn't help but feel apprehensive.

"Don't worry," Zuko whispered, reaching out to grab her hand. "Most of the guards are outside searching for Ouji."

"Worried?" Katara scoffed unconvincingly. "What makes you think I was worried?"

Zuko lifted an eyebrow. "I dunno. The sour look on your face and the furtive glances you keep casting about are kind of a dead give-away."

Katara stiffened, catching herself glancing around, and pouted. Why was he always able to read her so easily? Was she really such an open book? It was truly unfair.

"Sorry about that. I've just never been outside my own cell, except to be escorted to the interrogation floor, so I'm kinda nervous about having to rely on you." Zuko stopped and gave her a look that might have been labelled as wounded when she raised her free hand defensively. "Hey, in all fairness you never did explain to me what the plan was."

Zuko's brow creased in annoyance and his grip on her hand tightened, pulling her forward. "I told you to be ready, didn't I?"

Katara was about to issue a scathing retort, but decided not. Instead she swallowed the urge to rebuttal and stomp the ground with her heel. "So what's with the guard outfit?" she whispered, deciding to change topic. "Why not come as Kage?"

Zuko stopped near the corner of a narrow passage, putting his hand to his lips to indicate silence. Both flattened themselves against the wall, listening and waiting, until Zuko deemed it safe and gently pulled Katara along with him.

"Coming as Kage would only cause suspicion." He led her down a long, dank hallway. "Besides, the other day I had overheard that new guards would be coming in today, which means—"

"Which means there will be a boat!" Katara interrupted excitedly, and Zuko nodded.

"At least for the next few days."

Katara paused, ruminating over his words, and then squeezed his hand. "So what happened to the guy you're replacing?"

"He's alive," Zuko answered flatly, not bothering to stop or turn to look at her, and Katara made a face.

"Somehow that doesn't sound encouraging coming from you."

Zuko finally turned his head, giving Katara a baleful look that indicated silence, and motioned for her to follow more closely. Katara obeyed, taking her free hand and looping it through the crook of Zuko's arm, pressing her body as close to his without restricting their movement.

"This way," he whispered, leading her towards an open multi-levelled chamber with a set of stairs that surfaced into the main gallery.

Once on the top of the landing, Katara could see several different open passages, all connected, and leading to where she did not know. She kept her eyes peeled for patrols but, as Zuko had pointed out, most—if not all—of the guards were already out in the desert by now in hot pursuit of Ouji. Still, Katara was fearful of capture, of losing everything after they had come so far. It was a natural apprehension, but like always she would have to rely on Zuko.

After many twists and turns, they rounded a corner and the passage before them ended abruptly, blocked by a tall guard resting his back against a pair of large steel doors. At the sight of their approach the guard quickly sloughed his cloak over his right shoulder and stood to attention, as if to signal that he was not slacking off. His dark eyes were wary, shifting from Katara to Zuko as he watched them draw near.

"Who are you?" he barked at Zuko, and then jerked his neck in Katara's direction. "And what are you doing here with _her_?"

Katara's fingers interlaced with Zuko's as she craned her neck to look up at the towering giant, a hulking specimen who was at least a head taller than Zuko and twice his size. Before an excuse could even formulate in Katara's mind, Zuko let go of Katara's hand and moved his cloak to the side, revealing the insignia of the Fifth Column on a ceremonial scabbard that weighed heavily on his hip. The guard regarded it with a nod, luckily haven't have noticed Katara holding Zuko's hand earlier, and encouraged Zuko to continue with his explanation.

"I am Yenzi," Zuko said in a gruff voice, "one of the new guards brought in from the capitol." He removed his hand from his scabbard, letting his cloak slip back into place before grabbing Katara roughly by the elbow and shoving her forward. "Warden Kenzo ordered me to bring the waterbender here while the rest of the men looked for the escaped prisoner."

"The Blue Spirit, again?" All signs of suspicion and contempt were removed from the guard's face and were now replaced with open exasperation. "That boy needs a collar with a bell on it."

Zuko let out a snort of agreement and went to step past the guard. The large man quickly put a tree-trunk of an arm out, stopping him and Katara.

"Where do you think you're going?" He was speaking to Zuko.

"I was ordered to stand guard with the prisoner at all times, in case she tried anything," Zuko explained matter-of-factly, not skipping a beat. He was far too comfortable with lying and exerting his authority; far better than she was.

The guard studied Katara carefully as she trembled slightly in Zuko's grip. She was not really afraid but tired and cold, despite the sweltering heat; however, she could not deny her anxiety, as she was desperate not to do or say anything that would alert the guard to their deception. Lying was something she wasn't terribly good at. In fact, she was downright, well, terrible. Fortunately, her apprehension worked in their favour as the guard mistook her trembling for fear—fear of this new guard, _Yenzi_, and he gave Zuko a curt nod respect.

"Fine." He turned around to open the heavy doors. "I'll be outside. Yell if there's trouble."

When the doors opened, soft murmurs and even laughter echoed from within the large sconces-lit mess hall. Katara frowned, feeling slightly at unease. She had been expecting some sort of reception, eagerly anticipating it, in fact; but what she hadn't anticipated was the sound of mirth in a dismal hell such as this. She couldn't guess what it meant, the indication of normalcy in the midst of depravity, and her suspicions only grew.

Truth be told, a minuscule part of Katara, a part she loathed and repudiated, didn't want to be here. Undoubtedly, she wanted to rescue these innocent prisoners, fellow inmates she was meeting for the first time. It was in her nature to help. But despite the moral virtues taught to her at an early age, there was also the primal instinct of fight or flight imprinted on her psyche; the latter having become far more pronounced since her freedom had been taken away. Plainly put, Katara was afraid, afraid that they would not accept her or, most importantly, Zuko. And then she would be left with a choice: them or her. What worried her was that she already knew her answer.

That bottled fear vanished the moment she saw Kala. The old waterbender was seated next to an equally old man who had the build of a sturdy oak tree. He was strong-armed and broad shouldered, completely bald on top with a long grey beard and moustache. His eyes were light green in colour but hard and keen, boring into the newly arrived guest with a measure of mistrust and curiosity. And though it was apparent that these two elders were the matriarch and patriarch of their small community, it was hard to tell who the official leader was. Katara's gold coins were riding on Kala, but then they always rode on the woman.

Suddenly the doors slammed shut behind her, and Katara jumped; her hand instinctively reaching out to grab Zuko's for protection. The inmates stared at her with blinking curiosity. A false alarm, nothing more. Inwardly cursing herself for her uncontrollable jitters, Katara quickly let go of Zuko's hand and curled her own into a fist. The hot blush of embarrassment was already creeping up her neck and she just prayed that it didn't show on her face.

The prisoners, however, didn't seem to terribly care all that much, going back to their business, although Katara was convinced she could feel their eyes on her. Each of them were spread out, some sitting at tables, eating or playing cards, some just conversing quietly. The mess hall itself was little more than a large open space with two long tables and several stools, and a small kitchen in the back where they apparently cooked their own meals. A few barred windows lined the west wall, giving a depressing view of the desert outside. Needless to say, it wasn't a very welcoming room.

Katara cast a cursory glance, seeing that most of the prisoners looked to be Fire Nation of sorts. But here and there she spotted Earth Kingdom and even Water Tribe, much to her surprise. Twelve prisoners in total she counted, excluding herself and Ouji. And as Katara turned to look back up at Zuko, she could see him studying their surroundings with his customary unobtrusive vigilance, surreptitiously cataloguing every potential threat. His eyes lingered on Kala for a moment before focussing on two Fire Nation men standing apart from the rest of the group.

"Where's Ouji?" someone asked from one of the tables, an older gentleman playing cards with a group of men.

"He's off causing trouble, as usual," Kala said, and then turned to smile at Katara, who quickly walked over and took the older woman's hands in hers. "You can talk freely here, child. The room is made soundproof by the steel doors intended to keep us locked inside."

Katara nodded, letting out a sigh of relief, and turned to Zuko. "Zuko, here, released Ouji from the coolers this afternoon so that he could cause a distraction and give us time for this meeting."

Zuko inclined his head slightly at Katara's words while the rest of the prisoners peered at him sceptically. Deliberately, the old earthbender who had been seated next to Kala rose to his feet and casually sauntered towards the two women.

"So you're the famous master waterbender, Katara," the old man said in an equally strong and gruff voice that matched his appearance.

"And you must be Chen." Katara bowed respectfully to the earthbender. "I've heard a great deal about you."

"Good things, I hope." He offered her a crack of a smile before turning towards Zuko, his face an impassive slate of granite. "And this man dressed in guards' clothing is Zuko, then?"

The room grew silent in anticipation. Katara swallowed hard, watching as Zuko stood to attention, not once breaking eye contact with Chen. She knew him well enough that he would not be the first to look away.

"Yes, sir," Zuko finally spoke, lowering his hood and cowl before offering a bow of respect. "Nephew to General Iroh, Dragon of the West, and son of Lady Ursa."

"The Painted Lady," someone whispered, and there was a sudden murmur amongst the prisoners.

Chen regarded Zuko carefully, ignoring the whispers, and rubbed at his beard. "So you're the new Fire Lord." It was more of a statement than a question.

"He is my friend," Katara interrupted, taking a step back to stand beside Zuko, "and he is our only hope of getting out of here."

The young waterbender stared Chen down, her breast swelling with a sort of stalwart determination. Katara had never been one to back down from a fight, especially in the defence of a friend. Zuko had done many stupid things in his past and had once been her sworn enemy, but he had proved himself many times over that he was a noble man, a man with honour. He was her friend, maybe her best friend, and if Katara's personality could be summed up in two words it would be fiercely loyal . . . or fiercely stubborn.

"Time for introductions, then." Kala clapped her hands, changing the subject and breaking the obvious tension with her usual sagely grace. She took both Katara's and Zuko's arms and led them to the middle of the room. "First, I'd like you to meet Po, an earthbender from Jinoi, and his mischievous partner in crime, Bo."

Both men were seated at a long table with three other men; they looked to be playing some sort of card and dice game. The two earthbenders turned and grinned at Katara, nodding their greetings in unison. For some reason they reminded Katara of Bumi in a small way, although they didn't look nearly as old or seem as remotely crazy—at least not outwardly.

"The three men seated across are Sora, Daichi, and Yuuri, each hailing from the Yu Dao and Hu Xin colonies, respectively."

The three men, who looked to be in their late sixties, set down their cards but remained seated, nodding cordially to both Katara and Zuko.

"And after Ouji, these are our youngest." Kala turned and pointed to a beautifully dark-skinned man and woman; only a few years older than Katara herself. "Pana and Pinga from the Northern Water Tribe."

The girl, tall and coppery-skinned with light blue eyes and a thick braid of chestnut hair, bowed respectfully to Katara. "It is an honour to meet you again."

Katara brow creased in confusion. "Again?"

"My brother, Pana, and I—" she motioned to the tall, handsome man beside her "—were at the Siege of the North."

"We were taken prisoner before the Avatar's counter-attack," Pana added reproachfully, his gaze fixed on Zuko. His blue eyes were as cold as deep well water, and there was no doubt as to the disdain he felt towards the Fire Lord, but there was also a hint of blame directed at Katara. "We were abandoned."

"I-I'm so sorry." Her throat had gone dry at Pana's words; her heart sickeningly plummeted into her stomach. "None of us knew about this place. We had no idea. I—"

Zuko immediately stilled her words of apology with a protective hand on her shoulder, as if to say she had nothing to apologise for. He squeezed gently, taking an almost unnoticeable step between her and Pana, as though shielding her from the waterbender's cold eyes. Pinga, in turn, rested her hand on her brother's arm, urging him to stand down. The cold blue in Pana's eyes dimmed slightly, and Katara's shoulders relaxed, raising her hand to touch Zuko's in thanks before he let go.

"The two in the corner are Ken and his younger brother, Ryuu," Kala continued, easily assuaging the already dying hostilities. "They're both from the Fire Nation capital."

Zuko's attention was immediately piqued; and though he tried not to show it, Katara knew. The brothers looked to be around the same age as Yin and Yang, not much older or younger than Zuko's father. Katara absently wondered who exactly had brought them all here and why.

"Benders?" Katara was curious as to why Fire Nation prisoners would be held here instead of Boiling Rock.

"Political prisoners," answered Ryuu, the taller of the two. He glanced furtively at his brother, as if waiting for the man to explode.

"We opposed your father's regime," Ken added snidely, expecting a rise out of Zuko, but the firebender only smiled.

"Smart men."

A chortle emanated from across the room and Katara turned, surprised to see Chen laughing. He was standing beside an older gentleman of an undetermined age with slightly dark skin and vibrant blue eyes.

"And here's our man of the hour," Chen announced, putting an arm around the other man's shoulders. "Nutak of the Southern Water Tribe."

"Nutak?" Katara shook her head in disbelief. "_The_ Nutak?" She let out a breathless laugh as a goofy grin of awe graced her features. "Dad used to talk about you all the time."

Everyone turned to regard Katara curiously; even Zuko glanced down at her with a quirked eyebrow. With all eyes on her, Katara suddenly felt a heat blossom in her cheeks, spidering to the tips of her ears, and she glanced down at her feet.

"Well, you see Nutak is a bit of a legend back home," Katara explained awkwardly, clasping her hands together. "Before my time but after Hama and Kala and all the other waterbenders were rounded up by the Fire Nation, there was only one bender born into our tribe: Nutak."

Katara smiled brightly at the older man, who lowered his head humbly at the young woman's words. Chen, though, laughed and clapped the man soundly on the back.

"Who'd a thunk we had a legend in the midst?" Chen ribbed, and Po and Bo joined in the laughter. Even Nutak smiled, though he didn't look exactly appreciative of having a hulking man like Chen slap him around like a rag doll at his own expense.

"But I thought you had escaped the Fire Nation soldiers when they came looking for you," Katara said, unsure of the reason for the laughter from the earthbenders.

"I had." Nutak smiled thinly. "I went on to aid the Earth Kingdom in their fight against the Fire Nation and was eventually taken prisoner at the Battle of Ba Sing Se—" his eyes met Zuko's "—by the Dragon of the West."

Zuko visibly recoiled, as though he had been struck. "My uncle? No." He raised his hand to his throat in disbelief. "I can't believe he knew about this place."

"It's unlikely," Kala said in an almost reassuring tone. "This prison was specifically built for waterbenders, and all waterbending prisoners were sent back to the Fire Nation first where Azulon ordered their secret escort to the island."

"Then how do you have Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation here?" Katara glanced around at all the inmates.

"The earthbenders, Po, Bo, and Chen, were all generals and master earthbenders," Kala answered simply. "Their natural talent and leadership were considered a threat."

"Plus, we easily broke out of the other prisons we were sent to," Po added with a toothy grin, and Bo chortled.

"The Fire Nation prisoners are non-benders," Chen explained, hooking his thumb in their direction. "They are political prisoners who come from powerful families and who could not simply be killed but _disappeared_. Nothing like says disappear like sending a person to the ass-end of the world."

"Each of us was a respective governor and politician of our provinces," Daichi said, frowning thoughtfully. "We tried to change the social class structure that made Earth Kingdom peoples second class citizens in their own kingdom, and we were sent here for it."

"And I'm sure you can guess why Ken and Ryuu were sent here for going against your father," Chen added roughly, his gaze fixed on Zuko.

A muscle worked in Zuko's jaw and he turned to look at Ken. "Forgive my impertinence, but why weren't you and your brother killed? Not that I believe that is the right course of action but, knowing my father, if you were threats, why didn't he eliminate you?"

Ken snorted derisively. "You obviously don't know your father that well."

"Excuse me?"

Katara's hand was on his sleeve. "Zuko, remember what happened to you? Your father disfigured you and then banished you, only to later send your own sister to kill you."

"To kill you would have looked tyrannical to the people," Ryuu said, folding his arms across his chest. "And as for my brother and I, he didn't want to make martyrs out of us."

Zuko's shoulders relaxed and he took in a deep breath, nodding in understanding.

"Look at you," Katara added, offering him a small smile. "People united under your banner because you stood up to him."

"And now they're united against me."

"Explain," Chen said, regarding the firebender curiously.

Zuko then went on to describe the state of the Fire Nation, how it was ripe with civil strife and how he had infiltrated the Fifth Column in order to bring down the leaders and put an end to war.

"And so while undercover you decided to come here to rescue Master Katara?" Chen asked, and Katara nodded in affirmative. "Forgive _my_ impertinence, but why are you here and not the Avatar?"

This time it was Katara's turn to recoil as though she had been struck. It felt as though the very air had been vacuumed from her lungs. She staggered backwards until Zuko caught her by the elbows and held her upright, glaring vehemently at Chen. Katara didn't blame the earthbender for his question; it was a valid one. Aang should have been here, and he would be if he had known she had been taken; however, it didn't change the fact that he wasn't here and Zuko was.

Suddenly Kala's withered hand snapped out, slapping Chen soundly upside the head. The earthbender spun around in abject shock, clutching at his bald head.

"What the—"

"You have absolutely no tact." The old woman shook her head. "It doesn't matter why the young Fire Lord is here and the Avatar is not. The fact is that he is here—" she pointed a bony finger in Zuko's direction "—and he has risked much to save his friend, and now he is willing to save us."

Chen rubbed the back of his head, an odd sulk surfacing on his hard face. "Fine," he growled, turning back to Zuko. "But answer me this: working as a spy for the Fifth Column, you've had to do some terrible things, have you not?"

Zuko was silent for a moment, working a tick in his jaw as he regarded the impossibly obstinate old man in front of him. "If you're asking if I've killed innocent people, the answer is no."

"Zuko doesn't harm the people they send him to kill," said Katara fiercely, having regained her energy. Shaking out of Zuko's hold, she got right in Chen's face. "He sends them to my brother who relocates them to South Pole or remote areas in the Earth Kingdom, giving them new homes and identities. He _saves_ lives!" She puffed out her chest in pride and indignation before poking his broad chest with her finger. "And I really do not appreciate your tone."

Uncomprehending, Chen glanced down at Katara for a moment before letting out a bark of laughter. "I like you, kid. I really do. And I respect you for defending your friend." His smile then changed, becoming cruel as he looked up at Zuko again. "But I wasn't trying to accuse him of killing innocent men and women."

Katara took a step back and blinked nonplussed, her anger quickly dissipating. "Then what?"

"He wants to know if he's killed Fifth Columnists," Ken supplied darkly from the back of the room, and Chen nodded slowly.

"How about it, Fire Lord?" The earthbender stared at Zuko as though he could divine the truth. "Killed your own countrymen?"

"Yes," Zuko answered in a flat voice without hesitation, although his body was as taut as a harp string. "And nothing I say or do here will wash the blood from my hands."

The room went silent for a long while as Zuko stared Chen down, standing tall and unwavering as the prisoners silently judged him. But after what seemed like forever, the cruel smile in Chen's eyes faded, and the old man released a short breath like a growl, giving the Fire Lord a curt nod before turning towards the others and taking his seat.

It was an admittance of defeat, an indirect but sweeping acknowledgement of acceptance and peace. For if Chen accepted Zuko, then so would the rest of them. Now they could trust him enough to discuss escaping, or at least Katara hoped that was what this confusing display was all about.

_My soul is black with blood, and damned_, she thought to herself suddenly with a frown. It was not a hard thought, not biting or edged; it was a simple statement of fact.

Katara had never really thought about Zuko having to kill people before. He was acting as an assassin, after all—killing men who had ordered him to kill innocents. So why did she feel pity for him just now? Did she really think the battle against the Fifth Column, against the insurgents trying to incite civil discord in his nation, could be won without bloodshed? She of all people knew that liberty demanded sacrifice, and that pity weakened as surely as fear, and they all had to be strong. To face what they had to face, they all had to be made of steel.

"The sums are easy," Ken interrupted irritably. "At least one of us, if not all, will fall trying to escape here."

"Trying to talk us out of it, Ken?" Kala asked dryly, a hint of sharpness in her rheumatic blue eyes.

Though she was verbally addressing Ken, Katara could see that Kala's focus was entirely on Zuko; everyone's was. He had yet to back down from Chen, an earthbender more stubborn than a dozen Tophs combined, and he had somehow convinced men and women who had every right to hate and distrust him that maybe they could all escape this hell-hole together.

"I'm just telling you that the odds are against us—"

"Early days yet, lad," Chen interrupted gruffly. "No way to know till the day you die that you had beaten the odds; except that the odds will beat you in the end." He glanced over at Zuko. "One way or another."

When the earthbender's words died, the room grew silent again—a painfully stretching silence that gave them all too much time to think. But Zuko was unflappable, meeting Chen's scrutiny and Ken's mistrust with bold assurance and a measure of humility that could rival his uncle.

"We all stand under this threat," Zuko spoke confidently, eyeing every man and woman in the room. "And we either escape together, or we die alone."

He spoke with such a calm certainty, an acceptance of something so natural and right, that it sent chills down Katara's spine. She had always thought of Zuko as a young man who was awkward, even uncomfortable in his own skin, but right now in front of her—in front of everyone—he was something alien, something wondrous. He truly was a leader, a king among men.

"Easy for you to say," Ken mumbled with obvious disdain. "You've only been here a few weeks. It's easy to hold onto that kind of hope and gamble with your life when you're young."

Katara's eyes narrowed. How could this man give up hope so easily? Didn't he want to leave this forsaken prison?

"It's true," Zuko agreed. "This entire plan is a gamble, and not all of us will survive." His eyes levelled on Ken. "Some of us might face certain death."

"All death is certain, son," Chen said with a knowing smile, before standing up and taking a step towards Zuko. "So my vote is for trying. Who here can say that he doesn't wish to taste freedom before he dies? Any of you? Ryuu? Ken?" The younger man lowered his head and Chen turned towards the rest of them, his broad arms folded across his chest. "I know I don't want to die here. How about the rest of you?"

"I, for one, would like to see the ocean again," Kala said softly with a fond smile of reminiscence, and the others nodded in agreement.

"I just want to feel the grass beneath my feet one last time," Po said with a hint of longing in his voice. "So count me in."

"Me too!" the others spoke in unison, hopeful smiles breaking out on their faces.

"Brother?" Ryuu put his hand on Ken's shoulder.

"Yeah," Ken managed to choke out with some emotion before nodding. "It's time to stop living in fear, right?"

"Damn right!" Bo yelled, and the rest of them broke out into quiet laughter.

Smiling broadly, Chen turned and clapped Zuko on the shoulder. "Seems you have your consensus, Fire Lord. Now show us what you've got."

Katara clapped her hands in victory, a small smile surfacing on her lips. She would be lying if she denied that she didn't feel like crying right then, but she held back the happy tears and smiled even wider instead. Now that they were all in this together maybe it would work. Maybe they'd all survive and live to see home again, wherever that home may be.

Sorting through the maps hidden in his cloak, Zuko found the one he wanted and spread it out on the table, weighting at one side with a dagger and the other with his scabbard. The underground city of Ka'shi stared up at them, rimmed for most of its length by hills and treacherous crevices, and the great expanse of the sea beyond. This was the map that Kenzo and the wardens before him had kept hidden; this would be the map that would help them escape.

The others gathered around the table as Zuko perused the map, marking their path to the sea. He traced lines across it with his finger, pointing to where they needed to travel, discussing routes to use and those to avoid in hushed tones.

"The question is not where we should go next," observed Chen with a wry grimace after Zuko had explained their route. "The question is how you plan on us escaping without the guards' notice."

The rest of the prisoners voiced their agreement, and Katara felt a heavy weight on her heart. The back of her neck was warm and beaded with sweat, as though she was fighting a fever. She glanced through the barred windows to look outside, gauging how much more daylight remained. She quickly winced away at the still-bright light and grumbled to herself. Would the cursed sun never set?

"Are you all right?" Kala whispered, leaning in close.

Katara jumped slightly at the old woman's voice so close to her ear. She nodded curtly and waved her hand dismissively before tuning back into the group's conversation.

"Neither option appeals to me," Chen said with a growl, giving Zuko a pointed look before turning to slowly study the walls and structures around them. "But I guess I'll have to defer to your _wisdom_."

"Are you sure that's wise?" Ken argued, regarding Zuko once again with sceptical eyes. "Once we leave the shelter of the prison walls the guards will know exactly where we are. We'd be visible for miles, exposed to the sun with no water."

"I have a plan for that, if you'll trust me."

But Ken did not trust Zuko, of that Katara was certain. She wasn't sure if any of them really did, even now. The only one who had complete faith in Zuko was her. If only they could see him the way she did.

"Katara trusts him," Kala pointed out, placing a withered hand on the young woman's arm. "Isn't that right?"

"With my life," Katara answered without hesitation, grateful for Kala's ability to read minds. Her eyes briefly met with Zuko's; there was something sad in them, almost longing. But the look was fleeting, quickly fading into a thankful smile.

"Then I trust him," Kala said, taking a step towards Zuko and offering him a simple bow.

There was a quiet hush at her actions, and when Kala raised her head Chen was already standing beside her.

"You're the Painted Lady's son, and that's good enough for me." He inclined his head to Zuko. "You have my trust."

"Mine too."

"And mine!"

Katara couldn't help but bow to him as well, and Zuko took in a deep breath. Soon Ken followed suit, with some prodding from his brother, until everyone in the room was bowing to the Fire Lord.

"Please—" Zuko waved his hand in embarrassment "—please, do not bow to me."

Each prisoner then released his hands and stood straight while Zuko tried his best not to cover his face with his hand.

"We better get going," he finally said to Katara. His ears were still pink with embarrassment. "They're bound to catch Ouji soon." He turned to the others, raising his cowl. "Wait for my signal tomorrow night at lights-out; all cell doors will be opened. Know what you have to do."

"Got it, chief," Chen said with a salute, and the rest of the prisoners nodded in understanding.

As Zuko lifted his cowl and hood, Katara tentatively touched his arm. "Zuko, I—"

"I need you ready most of all, Katara," he said, his golden eyes glowing in the sunset hues. "Everything depends on you."

"I'll be ready." She fastened her most winning smile for him. "Don't you worry about me."

Zuko then gave her a look—the kind that said he always worried about her—and she genuinely smiled this time. For it was the kind of look that made her feel like everything was going to be okay; that they were all going to make it out of here alive.

But despite her unflinching trust in Zuko, Katara's unease would not abandon her. Because for all the good they had accomplished in this meeting, it all felt temporary somehow. And Katara was just waiting for the bottom to drop out.

**.**

**.**

**.**

SKIN PRICKLED BETWEEN her shoulder blades as she slept, stirring her awake from a dreamless sleep. It was the sense of being watched that roused Katara from her slumber, the feel of heated eyes on her while she slept. It was her imagination, she tried to convince herself. Imagination and knowing that there were enemies she could not face, enemies like Yin and Yang.

Rolling over onto her side, she pillowed her cheek against her hands. Perhaps settling herself into a new position would relieve her restlessness. But she could shift all she wanted; the crawling sensation would not go away. And when she finally gave into that unavoidable fear of threat, she was more than surprised to see Zuko kneeling at the foot of her futon.

"Zuko!" she gasped, scrambling to sit upright. "What are you doing here?"

He only stared at her in response, or maybe he was staring through her. Whatever he was doing, it was tying a painful knot in the pit of her stomach.

"Where's the Avatar?" His golden eyes glowed orange in the moonlight.

"What—?"

His hands snaked out like lightning, long fingers curling painfully around her wrists. "I will save you from the pirates."

Confusion and fear seized her all at once, like ghostly fingers tearing through her heart. This couldn't be happening; this couldn't be Zuko. It had to be a dream. So she reached out to touch his face, to see if he was real, and he flinched at the contact. Recoiling, Zuko scrambled backwards and flattened himself against the wall. But the courage that had so easily abandoned Katara earlier had returned, and she followed him blindly.

"Zuko, what's wrong?"

Her hand was on his cheek, and his entire body trembled at her touch. It was then that she noticed the beads of sweat trailing down his temples, the dampness of his collar. She put her fingers to his forehead and hissed, drawing her hand to her breast in shock. He was burning up. A fever? Tentatively, she reached out again to caress his cheek, and he whimpered softly, cradling his chin to his chest.

"I have failed you," he whispered, bringing his hand up to hers. "Aang; everyone."

His hand was clammy and hot, and it was as if she could feel his heartbeat through his palm. She licked at her lips nervously, regarding him with sorrowful eyes. Finally, he lifted his chin to look at her, a glimpse of reckless gloom hidden in his golden eyes.

"Zuko, you haven't failed anyone; least of all me." She offered him a smile, leaning forward so that their foreheads touched. "You risked everything to come save me."

His hand moved from a top of hers to her cheek, pressing his fingertips gently against her cool skin. She involuntary shivered at his touch, glancing up to meet his gaze, and was taken aback by how intensely he was staring at her. The way he looked at her; it was as though he was committing her image to memory.

"I don't deserve you," he said in a low voice, his fingers trailing to the hinge of her jaw and gripping tightly.

"Zuko, what—?"

She barely choked out her sentence before Zuko had spun her around, shoving her hard against the wall. She let out a sharp exhale, air exploding from her lungs as her back made contact with the hard stone. Both of his arms were already on either side of her head, his chest pressed uncomfortably into hers. The heat from his body was suffocating, intoxicating, and she reached back to grip desperately at the brick behind her, as though touching something solid would stir her from this waking dream.

But it wasn't a dream.

His eyes were dark now, like rusted gold, focussed on her so intently that she could not move; she was afraid to. It was almost hypnotic—his eyes, his breathing, his touch—and she swayed, sliding down along the wall. And then his hand reached out and grabbed her by the chin, crushing his lips against hers. Strong fingers stole up along her jaw, holding her tightly in place as he opened her mouth with his tongue, kissing her hard and wet.

She stood still, frozen and confused, but the warmth of his lips was inviting. Without thinking she opened her mouth hesitantly underneath him. His tongue probed inside, stealing along her teeth before plundering with a primal abandon, and she reacted with submission. He was demanding, invading her mouth with such force that she was convinced he was trying to consume her from within.

He tilted her head, deepening the kiss, and she moaned. Her hands instinctively reached up to touch his face, cupping his cheeks. And that was when she finally realised what was going on—that he was kissing her and she was kissing him back. She gasped into his mouth, moving her hands from his face to his chest, pushing her palms flat as she tried to shove him away.

"Zuko, no!" She managed turn her face away so that his mouth collided with her cheek. "You have to stop. This isn't what you want. You're not yourself."

But his fingers on her jaw only tightened, and he yanked her back to meet his mouth. His lips brushed over hers like electricity, until they were pressing deep and hard. She moaned despite herself as his tongue licked wetly across her own, initiating a duel as he leaned heavily into her. Trapped between the wall and his chest, Katara couldn't move. She didn't know if she even had the strength or sense to anymore. Her very flesh felt as though it was on fire as his mouth moved to her neck, trailing his teeth down her throat and leaving pink welts in their wakes.

She could feel his hot mouth on her skin and her breathing sped up to a slightly frantic colour. In one final attempt of resistance, she brought her hands back up to his chest to feebly push him away. But as his incisor nicked her tender flesh, she faltered, letting out a painful moan into his hair.

"_Zuko_."

Suddenly he was pulling away, stumbling backwards with a naked look of fear in his eyes. But there was hunger there, too; his body was still pressed tightly and warmly against hers, his eyes never leaving her swollen lips. She blinked, trying to regain her senses, and felt his warmth slowly leave her, no longer totally enveloping her body.

"Zuko, what's wrong?" She took a step forward, and he flinched, flinging himself away from her.

"Stay away!" He held up his hand as though he could shield her from himself. "I can't—I can't control myself."

"But—"

"No!" He fell to his knees, clutching his head in pain. "Katara, please . . ."

She made another move to step forward, but his chin snapped up and his eyes narrowed dangerously. He looked hungry, like a wolf eyeing its wounded prey, and she took a nervous step back.

"Zuko, wait . . ."

"RUN!"

He growled the command as he lunged forward, tackling her to the ground. In seconds he had her by the throat, curling his long fingers around her neck as his nails dug into her flesh. She tried to buck him off, but his entire body weight was on top of her. He twisted his hand, holding her completely immobile and silent as she gulped for air, and then there was a yank. The sound of thin material being ripped echoed in her ears and her eyes bulged in their sockets. His grip on her throat momentarily relaxed and she drew in a ragged breath, raising her head in a panic to look down and watch as he tore the rest of her tunic off her thin body.

Her mind was spinning, reeling in shock; everything was happening too fast. He was too hot, too heavy; his strong body pinned her to the floor as his palms unabashedly explored her body. And then his hands left her, moving to his belt and tugging it off so quickly that it made a wet, whip-like sound that made her whimper. His trousers were already undone, and his hands returned to her waist, searing palms smoothing their way up her naked flesh. She made to speak but his lips were already on hers, crushing down so violently that she could have sworn he drew blood.

"Katara!"

Suddenly the weight that was on her chest was gone, and Zuko was being lifted off her and thrown across the room. Dumbfounded, she watched as he sailed through the air, connecting with the wall with a sickening crunch. He fell to the floor in a crumpled heap.

"Katara, get back!"

Instinctively, she covered her breasts and looked up to see Ouji standing above her. He was dressed in Kage's clothing, his silver mask discarded and spinning aimlessly on the floor. The younger man took a step towards Zuko, but Katara was already sitting up and grabbing at his heel.

"Ouji, wait! This isn't want it looks like!"

"Then what is it?" he roared, his blue eyes flashing dangerously at Zuko.

"He's possessed or something." She was breathing heavily, raggedly, as she shakily rose to her feet. "He doesn't know what he's doing! Please," she begged. "You can't hurt him."

But Zuko was already on his feet, both hands lit with fire. His eyes were fixed on Ouji with murderous intent.

"Zuko, stop!" she commanded, scrambling to her feet to stand between the two men. "Stay back!"

Zuko stopped. A sudden and painful look of clarity washed over his face, and his eyes drifted down to her torn clothes and half-naked body and to the red welts forming on her neck. The fire extinguished from his palms and he bent forward, dry retching before collapsing to his knees.

"Katara." His voice was hoarse and pitiful, and she was about to reach out to him when his hands returned to his head and he screamed in pain. "No! Stop! Katara—" he looked up at her pleadingly "—_kill me_."

"No!" She shook her head, tears flying as she choked back sobs. "No, I won't. I won't!"

Instead, she drew deep inside herself, drawing until she could feel the warm chi flowing through her, almost as much as she could hold. It was a never-ending wave of power that coursed through her veins.

Concentration or no concentration, sweat began to bead on her forehead, and the heat had nothing to do with it. It was the primal chi that came from bloodbending; it beckoned; it throbbed, and she throbbed with it. But worst of all it demanded. The longer she held back, just a hairsbreadth from connecting fully to the source, the worse the desire—the worse her need would grow.

Hanging onto the power, she began to tremble slightly, moving her hands in a precise series of motions. Bloodbending was not the same as waterbending, though it was close. Bloodbending was not meant to be done hurriedly, and Katara knew from experience that having your blood bent wasn't close to a soft touch. It was invasive and crippling, and the slightest mistake could result in crushed organs.

Even though she was the one who was bending Zuko, Katara felt as though she was being shaken. Nothing happened physically, but inside her head she seemed to be bouncing around, tumbling wildly downhill. Her blood boiled and her skin vibrated; worse yet, she was jostled towards embracing the terrifying chi fully, with an excruciating slowness that threatened to envelop her if she relinquished just a fraction of control.

She wanted to scream out, but she could not breathe; her hands were frozen in precise form. Abruptly, like a dam bursting, she allowed a small wave of that power to flow through her, a rush of life and energy, and her breath left her in a long gasp of pleasure and release so overwhelming that her legs wobbled. In the end, the entire act only took the span of two heartbeats, but it had felt like an eternity, and now Zuko lay unconscious on the floor.

Tottering, Katara lowered her hands and knelt beside the Fire Lord, her hands on his face. It was all she could do to keep from panting as she reined in the dangerous power that ebbed inside her—a dangerous power that so desperately wanted to be unleashed.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, bending over Zuko with her lips pressed to his cheek. "I'm so sorry."

Her tears were dripping down onto his face and she could feel something being draped over her naked shoulders. She glanced up to see Ouji wrapping a blanket around her and she smiled thankfully.

"I don't know what to do for him," she croaked, her entire body trembling. "I don't know how to help him."

Ouji knelt down beside her, his hand tentatively reaching out to touch her shoulder. "Katara—"

"Your friend has been brainwashed."

Both Katara's and Ouji's heads snapped up in surprise at the sound of Kala's voice coming from the other side of the wall.

"Kala! What do you mean?"

"The twins are manipulating him. I'm fairly certain they have access to him through his dreams."

"Dreams?" Katara shook her head. "But—but how?" This was all too confusing.

"It's difficult to explain right now. But the twins have managed to imprint a behaviour on his subconscious and triggered it earlier today."

Katara stood up and walked over to the crack in the wall, peering inside to look at Kala. "Imprint a behaviour on his subconscious? What does that even mean?" She was angry and hurt, and damn near felt like she was losing her mind. "How could they trigger something like that?"

"I'm not exactly sure, but he seems to have been fighting the trigger for a while now." Katara turned to see Zuko still lying unconscious on the floor. "He has a very strong will to have resisted for so long."

Katara felt a sudden painful tug in her chest and she looked away, resting her head against the thick stone wall. "Can you—" she swallowed hard, pulling the blanket securely around her shoulders "—can you help him?"

"I can try, but I will need physical contact with him."

Katara nodded slowly, feeling fresh tears well in her eyes. "Ouji, could you—"

"I'm on it." The young man swiftly bent down and lifted Zuko into his arms.

"What about morning check?" Katara asked suddenly, turning to watch Ouji as he headed towards the door. "The guards will find him in Kala's cell."

"Don't worry about that." He shifted her unconscious friend in his arms. "I won't let anything happen to him, so you just get some rest."

"Thank you," she whispered, offering the young man a grateful smile. "And thank you, Kala."

And so Katara waited, listening as the door to Kala's cell opened and Ouji shuffled inside. She tried to stay awake, to watch everything from the crack in the wall, but the effort from bending had weakened her and she would have to save her strength for tomorrow. So she crawled back over to her futon, her eyes already fluttering shut in exhaustion.

As she spiralled into unconsciousness, a persisting thought plagued Katara's mind. What kind of monsters were Yin and Yang to do something like this to Zuko? Why him? Though she doubted she would ever know these answers, Katara was certain of this much; and that was that she would do whatever it took to make Zuko better. Anything. She owed him at least that much. She owed him her life.

**.**

**.**

**.**

SOMEONE WAS HUMMING.

_I see the moon  
The moon sees me  
It shines my love  
For you to see_

It was a familiar tune, nostalgic, even; so much so that she began to hum along. The words came freely, without though, and a strange smile surfaced on her lips. Her mother's lullaby was calling out to her, lifting her out of bed, and she followed the sound of the hymn like a wayward child—a wayward child being led home.

_I feel the sea  
The sea feels me  
It spreads my love  
For you to see_

Her feet took her forward, knowing the way, past the open cell door and into the empty hallway. Though it was dark and deserted, she was not afraid; neither did she question where or why she went, only following the sound of the song. She was dimly aware that something was out of place, but she didn't care.

Sliding out of focus, she felt the pinprick of a memory being siphoned from her mind. It was a sickening feeling, as though her life, her loyalties, and her thoughts were being wrested from her very being. It left her feeling hollow inside, as brittle as a rotten piece of bone.

_I am the moon  
You are the sea  
Where you will go  
I'll always be_

But then the humming grew louder, more distinct, and she no longer cared about the sickening pull at the back of her mind. Instead, she felt at ease once more, soothed by the simple cadences of the song, as though she hadn't a care in the world. But there was much to be worried about. She was vulnerable now. Her enemies were ready to strike her down, to strike down the ones nearest to her, the ones she loved the most.

And so they called for her, luring her with sweet memories and even sweeter lies. But this was more than just offering suggestions, more than imprinting. This was creation through manipulation at its highest level; this was growth through diminishment and the separation of self—an act so abhorrent and as old as evil itself that none could separate one from the other. And now she was losing herself to it and she was afraid, more afraid than she has ever been.

In the past her enemies had been so willing to lash out with cruelty, but their aspirations of conquest that had once seemed so grand were, in the vast scale of time and space, tiny and inconsequential. Her new enemies understood this—had the foresight to view events as they might be seen a hundred or a thousand years hence. They had the power to see what truly separated the benders from the non-benders, the deities from the mortals, and the powerful from the chattel. And now, due to their error or through some random act of fate, she could see what they saw; a singular thought with an equally singular goal, and all it took was a moment of weakness in exchange for a millennium of surging power—

The humming had stopped, and so had she. The song was changing. It was on the wind now and in the air, and it spoke of an end where everything would be as it had once been at the beginning of time. And they would use her—use her to achieve their goals, to reach those seemingly incalculable ends. But in spite of her vulnerability, in spite of her weakness, there was one thing that her enemies had not anticipated; that she was just as self-aware as they were.

And that was what made Katara dangerous; for the growing essence of power was _her_.

* * *

**Author's notes: **I have to admit that meeting scene with the rest of the prisoners kicked my arse. Sorry if it bored you. Introducing a bunch of OCs at once, even though they're not incredibly important to the story, is never a fun task. I hope I did the scene some justice, though, as it was pivotal to the plot.

*The lyrics in italics are my own; however, I was inspired by _Moon Lullaby_, which features the first two lines: _I see the moon/The moon sees me_.

* * *

**Term(s):**

A _Sleeper Cell_ is a terrorist cell whose members work undercover in an area until sent into action; therefore, a _**sleeper agent**_ is _a spy (or deep undercover agent) who is placed in a target country or organisation, not to undertake an immediate mission but rather to act as a potential asset if activated_. It should be noted that Zuko (as Kage) was originally a sleeper agent of his own accord; later, the twins brainwashed Katara and Zuko into becoming sleepers, who are activated by 'triggers'.


	14. Blood Oath

THE FIRST THING he saw was flailing arms. Human arms. A child's arms, struggling up through the river's rushing waters and held down by a tangle of branches.

Instinct took over and he scampered down the bank, wading through the shallow, painfully cold water at the river's edge. The fist-sized, slippery round stones of the river bottom made him look drunk as he charged into the knee-deep, swiftly moving waters. He glanced right, timing the approach of floating logs, and prepared to dive.

The limbs of the first log struck him, knocking him off balance. The branches scraped across his back, tearing open his tunic and dragging him down under. Just as quickly he was being lifted up out of the water, resurfacing as he struggled out of the grasp of tangled limbs. Desperately gasping for air, he finally found his balance and dodged the next log, glaring back at a female figure standing on the bank.

"Thanks for the save," he growled, still sputtering out water. "You think you could give me a hand?"

The woman looked at him seriously for a moment and then began to clap. He glowered. She was the waterbender. Why wasn't she the one out here?

Barrelling towards him was the final tree; the one with the human arms he had seen upstream. It bore down on him, a tongue of torn wood aimed like a lance. He could use his fire to burn it, but he would risk harming the child. Then he no longer saw the arms thrashing, and for an instant he wondered if he had seen them at all.

The approaching tree was well over a foot thick and likely weighed at least a hundred kilos or more. Driven by the force of the running river, it would hit him like a battering ram. If there was no child to begin with, was it worth risking his life? He'd have to react quickly: burn the tree barrelling down upon him or try to jump it and look for the kid. Or he could dive underneath and try to catch the child as he sailed by.

Drawing in a lungful of air, he dove the four feet to the river bottom and blindly reached out to grab onto a flat mossy rock. White-knuckled, he held on tightly as the limbs broomed over him, snagging his hair and yanking his head up and back. A chunk of hair tore loose and he screamed into the water. One-handing the rock, he tried his best to protect his face as the remaining limbs scraped raw the flesh of his forearm. He swore silently at the thought of the waterbender standing on the shore, quietly observing and doing nothing. He knew that if he failed, she would succeed. She always did. But it didn't calm his anger that she was making him do this alone.

Finally, in his blurred vision appeared a child's pale bare foot. He let go of the rock, grabbed the ankle with both hands and followed up the leg to the child's waist. Planting his feet in the maze of rocks on the river bottom, he propelled himself and the child up out of the water and into the snarl of tree branches. The tree limbs whipped and dug into his arms and face, demanding the release of the child, but he would not let go.

Falling back into the water, he waited for the last tree to pass before swimming back to shore. He threw the child down on the beach first before dragging himself onto the damp sand. He opened his eyes to see the terrified boy gazing back at him. And that was when he noticed the colour of his eyes: they were golden eyes; they were his eyes.

**.**

LYING ON SWEAT-SOAKED sheets, Zuko awoke to the sight of a rusty-coloured stone ceiling. Rays of soft light filtered into his vision, coming from somewhere to his left, signally a new day. Soon the blaring sun would be edging above the horizon. Morning. A time for new hopes; a time to be up and doing. _New hopes_. Zuko almost laughed at the thought. Exactly how long had he been asleep?

_Katara!_

He moved quickly, too quickly, and the spinning vertigo in his head seized him long before the sharpness in his joints. He fell back onto the bed. The last thing he remembered was telling Katara to kill him. What had he done, and why? Thank the spirits she had stopped him. If she hadn't, he—

No, he didn't even want to think about it. All he wanted to know was that she was all right.

This time he sat up slowly, his entire body aching as he tried to take in his surroundings. Blank walls, not unlike a prison cell, a bedside cabinet to his immediate right, a desk and chair near the foot of the bed. He was in his own sleeping quarters. He struggled to sit up; sweat popped out on his face and neck, and he winced at the pain in his head and limbs, suppressing groans and biting back curses until he was finally upright. Katara had certainly done a number on him.

"Bad dream?"

Zuko instinctively reached for a knife inside his sleeve but stopped. Ouji was sitting on the stone bench near the door, studying him carefully. The young man was dressed as a guard but his hood was down, revealing long brown dreadlocks and brilliant blue eyes. There was a tired sort of calmness in his features, tempered with wariness and relief—relief that Zuko was awake but wariness if he was truly sane or not.

Zuko relaxed, removing his fingers from the blade, and sunk back into the mattress. "Nightmare," he answered hoarsely, his voice rusty with lack of use. He glanced down at the cabinet, noting the silver gleam of his mask. He wondered exactly how Ouji had brought him here and how long he had been out. By the feel of the sun starting to creep down his back, he assumed hours.

"What was it about?"

"What was _what_ about?" Zuko had already swung his legs over the bed, holding his head in his hands.

"Your nightmare." Ouji stood and picked up the chair at the desk, moving it closer to the futon before taking a seat.

"Oh." Zuko let out a long breath and released his head from his hands before sagging back into the mattress. "I—it was more like remembering the past." He fumbled around for his hood. "A long time ago, when my family got along, we used to spend summers at Ember Island. There was this cliff and forest area behind our villa. You know—the kind with rapid rivers and cascading waterfalls?"

"No, I wouldn't." Ouji had spoken the words plainly, without a hint of bitterness, but Zuko still winced. He had momentarily forgot that this boy had only known the desert and walls of this prison.

"Anyway," Zuko went on with a quick clearing of his throat, "there was this one time when I was young—Azula was only a baby at the time—I decided to climb these rocks overlooking the rapids. They had been cutting down trees earlier, and I wanted to see. I guess I was playing around because I suddenly slipped and fell, tumbling head-first down the cliff into the water below."

"Some sort of childhood trauma, maybe?"

Zuko snorted. He'd had enough of those; it was hard to distinguish one from the other. "Maybe." He chewed on his bottom lip distractedly. "Only thing is—I wasn't seeing it through my eyes."

"What do you mean?"

Zuko sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. "I remember there was a man who saved me. He dove in and pulled me out of the water. He looked—well, he kinda looked like me. Same eyes."

"Was it your father?"

"No." Zuko shook his head slowly. "No, I'm fairly certain it wasn't him." He stared past Ouji, his golden eyes glazing over. "I'm not sure who it was."

"Well—" Ouji placed his hands on his knees and stood up with a grunt "—seems like it was a relatively normal dream."

Zuko glanced up. How could this boy know that—how could even _he_ know for sure? "How do I know this isn't some trigger?" He hadn't meant to say that aloud, but he couldn't take back his words now; he couldn't retract his open fears.

"Look at it this way," Ouji said with a shrug, "earlier when you went crazy you couldn't remember what was going on or what triggered your change. At least you remembered this dream. That's probably a good sign."

Zuko sighed. "I hope you're right. I really do." He finally found his hood on the bed and gripped it tightly in his palm before placing his hands on his knees. "So how is Katara?" His voice sounded weak and painful to his ears.

"Fine. She's the one who knocked you out, you know." When Zuko failed to respond, Ouji brought up his own hood and frowned. "I know you probably have a lot of questions right now, but I'm not the one you should be asking. You need to talk to Kala."

Zuko nodded curtly. "I agree."

He wanted to know more about what they did to him and why. And while he could trust Ouji, he really didn't want to have a conversation about Katara with him, even if Ouji did miraculously have all the answers.

When Ouji turned to leave, Zuko stood up. "Wait, where are you off to?"

Ouji paused, his hand on the door. "Morning check," he answered gruffly. "I gotta be in the coolers before they notice I'm gone."

Zuko should have let it drop at that, but for some reason he didn't quite feel like being alone right then. "Don't forget to use the breathing exercises I taught you yesterday," he said, knowing it sounded lame. But to his surprise Ouji turned and gave him a characteristic grin.

"Yeah, I will. Still colder than hell in there, though."

Zuko smiled. "I hear you."

There was an awkward exchange of silence, and then Ouji dropped his hand from the door. He slowly turned around to face Zuko.

"Before I go—" he reached inside his cloak and produced a small stack of papers "—here. I wanted to give these to you sooner but, well, we were both kinda busy."

Zuko stepped forward and took the papers from Ouji's hands. "What are these?"

"They mo—" Ouji stopped himself and grimaced slightly "—they're your mother's letters."

Zuko stared down at them, dumbfounded and at a loss for words. "I-I—thank you."

Ouji curtly inclined his head. "Well, good luck to you, and see you tonight."

"You too."

Zuko followed the kid's back as he left, waiting until the door closed behind him. He sat down on the bed and stared at the yellowing parchment for what seemed like minutes before taking in a deep breath and carefully opening the first letter. He read:

_"My dearest son,_

_"I write these letters knowing that you may never read them and for that I am grateful, more than I could possibly express. If anything, I need to know that you are out there somewhere, outside these drab prison walls, safe and happy, living a life unburdened with the dark stains of sorrow and regret. But should you come to find these letters, know that the words I write come from the heart and in these words you will find the memories and truths that belong to you—that are you—because you are my heart._

_"Someday, when you are older, you will seek answers; though others may give you some form of the truth, you must never think that there was something you might have done. It is a mother's duty to protect her children, not the other way around. But no matter what you hear, please remember this: I did what I did out of love; my choices were my own."_

Zuko set down the letter; he couldn't read any more. He didn't even notice the salty-wet tears sliding unabashedly down his cheeks. Instead, he gripped the letter tightly in his hand and pressed it to his heart, as though the ink and parchment alone could soothe his phantom wounds.

**.**

**.**

**.**

INSIDE HIS OFFICE, Kenzo paced.

"Yenzi? Where the hell is Yenzi?"

The sun had only begun to rise and the warden's day was already full. He could feel a cluster migraine breeding at the back of his eyes.

"He's in the infirmary, sir," the guard to his right answered tersely. "He came down with the pox last night."

"Dammit!" Kenzo growled, bringing a hand to his head. The new guard had just transferred the other day and was already sick. Normally he'd blame it on the heat. Even seasoned Fire Nation citizens couldn't handle the arid heat of the desert at first. But the pox? That was another cluster migraine altogether. He couldn't risk his other guards coming down with it.

"We'll have to send him back on the boat tomorrow." Kenzo sighed wearily, rubbing at his eyes. "Atsuo won't get his leave now."

"Perhaps we should take him back tonight," the guard offered, "while it's cool."

"Travel by the light of the moon."

Kenzo spun towards the sound of the distinctly feminine voice. Yin stood regally in the doorway, her long black hair woven into a tight cable that hung over her right shoulder. Today her robes were plum and gold, pooling over her dainty feet. She looked both out of place yet inexplicably at ease, as though she feared nothing. Though sightless, her eyes were levelled on Kenzo, filling the warden with an unmistakeable sense of dread. Now was not the time for him to panic, but it was hard to swallow back the urge. Besides, he was fairly certain she and her brother dined on fear.

"Yin-sama—" he bowed lowly "—to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I came here to request your services," she said with a velvety purr and a cat-like grin to match. It was almost as if she was trying to charm and unnerve him all at once. It worked, especially the latter. "But I shall wait until you're finished with your roll call."

"Tha-thank you," Kenzo stuttered, shocked at her patience.

Yin didn't wait to hear his words of appreciation; she was already gliding out the room, the golden hem of her robes barely grazing the floor. Outside the door stood her brother, Yang, dressed in matching plum colours with his sleek black hair loose, cascading down to the middle of his back. His face was smooth and cold, like chilled wine.

"He's awake."

Yin nodded, and a raven lock slipped loose from her braid. "He'll be looking for her. His shame won't keep him away for long." She tucked the errant strand behind her ear and tilted her head ever so slightly, her face impassive marble. "And soon it will all be over."

**.**

**.**

**.**

ZUKO MADE HIS way down the stairs towards the cool halls of the interrogation floor. Draped in a hooded cloak with his silver skull mask set in place, he somehow blended in with the stone and dark shadows that danced along the sconce-lit hallways. He was on a mission, and not even the twins themselves could stop him now.

He passed a pair of guards along the way, walking in the opposite direction. They eyed him with open curiosity but not a hint of suspicion. And why should they? He wasn't just General Yao's assassin; he was Yin and Yang's man now, at least as far as they knew. He had full access to the prison and its inmates, and not a single guard batted an eyelash at this, or at the fact that he never spoke. Bring the old waterbender to interrogation cell two was what was written on the memo; no questions asked, and no questions were.

Those same two guards glanced over their shoulders twice more before continuing on their way. They always gave the assassin his space, a wide berth. They no longer even bothered to stay on the same floor while he held an interrogation, leaving him to his work. Zuko hoped this naïve lack of suspicion would carry over well into his escape tonight. After all, why would they suspect him of a prison break—or better yet, what sort of mad man would have broken into this hell-hole in the first place? At least that's what he hoped they would think.

Hand on the door to cell two, Zuko unhooked the latch and slid it open smoothly. Kala was seated at the table in the middle of the room. Unperturbed, she turned her head slightly, steadily meeting his gaze. Those milky blue eyes of hers seemed to see right through him—not cruelly or accusingly—just intensely, as though she could see everything, and maybe she could.

"So this was your doing, then," she said calmly. It was more of a statement than a question.

Zuko slid the door shut behind him and removed his hood and next his mask, setting the latter down on the table. "My apologies, but I needed an excuse to come down here and release Ouji from the coolers before noon."

"Are you sure that's all?"

Zuko smiled thinly. "I should know better than to try to trick a mind-reader."

"You can try," she said with a simple shrug. "You just need to be less obvious about it, and less open with your thoughts."

He felt like a child being taught a lesson; so, with some care, he organised his thoughts. He locked away his darkest secrets—his deepest shame—in a place where the old woman's eyes could not follow. And then he concentrated solely on the matter at hand, the answers he sought from her.

"I need to know how you healed me." He absently fingered the black hood in his hand. "Or if you even did."

"Depends on your definition of healing." When he gave her a pointed look, Kala raised an eyebrow but continued, "I discovered how Yin and Yang were able to reach you—in your dreams."

"Dreams?"

"They were sending you impulses in your sleep, imprinting a behaviour onto your subconscious."

"How?" Zuko's brow creased in confusion. "How can they do something like that?"

"It's difficult to explain, but you are at your most vulnerable when you are asleep. Yin and Yang were able to enter your dreams and manipulate them. Over a prolonged period of time they were able to infiltrate your memories too, ultimately affecting your personality. Then, whenever they wanted, they would suggest tasks that you would later fulfil—when triggered."

"What is the trigger?"

Kala shrugged uncomfortably, a look of regret lingering on her features. "That I do not know. I did not have the time to walk freely through your mind—not with Yin and Yang paying such close attention to you."

Yin and Yang. When were they not pulling the strings?

Zuko swiftly brought his arms down to his sides. A sudden white-hot fury seized him, and he trembled with rage. So no one knew what exactly had been done to him, how it was triggered, and whether or not he would lose control again. Great. He was back to square one—with no options and no hope.

"So you don't know if I'm cured or can be cured," he said in a growl of a voice, pacing back and forth in a vain attempt to contain his anger. "They could activate me at any moment and get me to—get me to . . ." He couldn't finish his sentence. He didn't want to.

"They do not have complete control over you," Kala spoke firmly, "not so long as you are aware of their control." Her features softened, regarding Zuko with a look that could have been considered sympathetic. "I can help you protect yourself against them, but—"

"But time is running out." Zuko stopped pacing, feeling the white-hot anger inside him deflate like a balloon. There was no point in remaining angry, not when everything was completely out of his control.

"You know what they want you to do," the old woman spoke plainly.

Recoiling at the thought, Zuko took a step back before drawing in a deep breath. He shook his head and measured the old woman sitting in front of him, mulling over her words.

"I know what they want me to do, but I don't understand _why_." Dark thoughts seized him and he raked his fingers through his hair. "Do they want to break me, watch me betray my friend? For what, a laugh? To watch the Fire Lord fall from grace?" He cursed under his breath and slammed his fists down on the table. "No! Katara should have killed me."

Kala observed Zuko with calm silence. His head was bent and his shoulders trembled. He must have looked pitiful.

"Katara wanted me to save you," she spoke softly. "Do you think she could have lived with herself if she killed you—even for your sake?" Zuko took a deep breath and shook his head. Of course not. She would have been devastated. "You do not see yourself how she does. You have so little faith in yourself, but she has so much in you."

Zuko swallowed hard and clenched his right hand into a tight fist. "Even a faithful dog must be put down if it begins to foam at the mouth."

"You cannot afford to think that way," the old woman chastised. "Not if you want to get her out of here alive."

His eyes widened at her words and he released his fist. That did it. Kala was right. He had to stop thinking about himself. Zuko couldn't afford to wallow in self-pity, not now. He had to find a way around this predicament if he wanted to free Katara. But in order to do that he would have to figure out how to resist Yin and Yang, or else his entire planning was for naught. Could he kill them? Was that even possible?

Zuko took the seat across from Kala. It was time to look at this situation objectively, as something he could solve. "Yin once said that when you resist their powers for too long, you will die. Is that even true?"

Kala mulled over his words for a moment and inclined her head. "Through a direct reading, yes. But what Yin and Yang are doing is far more subtle than that. They are not pulling thoughts from your mind; they are merely observers in your dreams. They simply lie in wait for images to surface and manipulate them." Kala's eyes narrowed. "They do not have the total control over you that you believe."

"As long as I don't fall asleep," Zuko muttered mirthlessly, and Kala nodded.

"As long as you don't fall asleep."

Zuko sighed, slightly comforted by Kala's words. He might not be in control, but the twins weren't in total control either, and that was something.

"Good thing we're breaking out tonight," he joked, a pitiful attempt at levity, and then his expression hardened. "Is it even possible to kill them?"

"Anything is possible," Kala answered with a slow shrug of her shoulders. "However, there is no telling what the repercussions of their deaths would be to you and Katara and countless others who have yet to be released from their triggers."

Zuko swallowed dryly and nodded, and then another thought seized him with abject fear. "Wait—if the twins have been in my dreams and seen what I've dreamt, they—they must know who I am. And if they know who I am, why haven't they killed me?"

Kala calmly followed the Fire Lord with her eyes, her brow raising just a fraction of an inch. "Are you asking for my opinion or merely talking out loud?"

"I'm sorry," Zuko muttered, bringing the edge of his palm to rub at his forehead. "It's just that I don't understand their motives. Yin and Yang are obviously the leaders of the Fifth Column, but what is their purpose in getting me—in getting me to do _that_ to Katara?" Bile rose to his throat and he lowered his hand. "Why are they doing this to me?"

Kala folded her hands together. "Instead of looking at things through a mirror, try looking through a window."

Zuko glanced up, bewildered. That was the kind of answer he'd expect from his uncle. "You remind me of my uncle," he blurted aloud. "And what do you mean?" He was thankful that at least it wasn't a tea analogy.

"What I meant was you are focussing too much on yourself instead of what is going on around you. Try looking at this situation from a whole instead of in pieces. Don't look at what is merely being reflected back at you—look beyond yourself."

"You mean try to think like Yin and Yang, always three steps ahead?"

When Kala failed to emote, Zuko sighed. She was right, as usual. He had to look beyond himself. The twins most likely already knew who he was, which meant they knew the crown was vulnerable. He could also assume that they knew Zuko had replacement and that replacement was most likely under their control. Politically, there was no use for Zuko since the Fifth Column already had their puppet Fire Lord. Something else was keeping him alive.

"I have to assume they've known who I was all along, a sleeper agent in their own organisation," Zuko mused aloud. "But they've never made a move to capture me or even attempt to release my father from prison. They've shown no interest until now. Why? Do they really not know where he's being kept? Do they actually care?"

The Fifth Column had captured Katara for that exact information, to find the whereabouts of Ozai's prison, as well as the metalbender who constructed it. But why wait so long for this information, and what was their interest in Toph? And why wait two years to kidnap Katara and get the information from her when they knew where he was all along? Unless they didn't really care about his father. Unless Zuko was never a target.

_Why are you here in the first place?_

"Katara!" Zuko stood up, his hands reaching for his face. "This was never about me. It was about all about her." He dropped his hands. "But why?"

"Why do you think?"

Zuko shook his head, as if in pain. "I don't know. To get Aang—to capture the Avatar?"

"Men." Kala snorted derisively. "Always thinking everything has to be about them in some way. Is it the man behind the woman or the woman behind the man?" She waved her hand dismissively before continuing, "The Fifth Column specifically chose a time to take Katara when the Avatar was gone. Do you really think the _Avatar's_ capture was their priority?"

"No." Zuko folded his fists on the table, cursing himself for not having figured this out sooner. But it still begged the question: why was Katara their priority?

"Do you know that I never met Katara until only a few days ago?" Kala posed the question nonchalantly, meeting Zuko with a steady gaze. Her tone was casual, but her eyes were keen and intent. "When they first brought her here they kept her in the cages away from the others; they starved her, only giving her water through a ladle on the end of a long stick." A wry grin surfaced on her wrinkled lips. "Do you think they'd take so much care with someone they didn't see as a threat?

"You see—" she motioned to their surroundings "—this prison was built specifically for waterbenders. The cages, even the desert climate, are all meant to keep us in line, to ensure that no one could escape; that no one would even want to try. But even Kenzo and his predecessor knew that the cages were an inhuman sort of torture, for both the prisoners and the guards. They were never meant to be used as a regular means of incarceration; instead, they were only to be used as a form of punishment, like the coolers.

"But the first place they sent Katara to was the cages. They starved her and they weakened her, but certainly none of this was done to get answers about the Avatar."

Zuko let out a sharp breath he hadn't even known he'd been holding. "Then why?"

"Because they were afraid of her—because they're still afraid of her. And they should be." Zuko's eyes widened. "The first time I spoke with her she was bloodbending rats at sunrise. It was the same time you arrived here, not long after Yin and Yang arrived too." Kala shook her head. "It was almost as if they knew, as if they were testing her."

Zuko swallowed hard. Had the twins already known Katara was a bloodbender? How could they possibly know that? Katara had always kept it a secret, vowed to never use the power after she had confronted Yon Rha. Zuko could feel sweat beading on his forehead; somehow he was sweating in the cool dampness of the interrogation room. How much did Yin and Yang really know? How much was under their control? Did _he_ even have any control? Had Yin and Yang already won?

"This changes everything," he muttered, slumping down on the chair in defeat. What was the point in continuing a game he had already lost?

"All things change," Kala said slowly. "Until we wake, the dream drifts on the wind." She paused, her features softening into a smile. "But you are aware now, are you not? You have taken back your will and reduced their power over you by doing so. This can possibly change everything back into your favour." Her smile was cunning. "Now _you_ can manipulate them."

**.**

**.**

**.**

ZUKO SET OFF along the passage heading back to the surface of the gallery, with Kala in tow. He was personally escorting the waterbender to the mess hall for her meal; however, it was really an excuse to meet up with the others. Zuko couldn't help but feel a twinge of apprehension; not about the walk there or the risk of his movements being reported to Kenzo or even the twins, but of the meeting with the inmates who, according to Kala, now knew everything thanks to Ouji. This included what he had done or tried to do to Katara.

Leading Kala through the labyrinthine hallways, Zuko glanced outside the slit-like windows that lined the passage. The desert outside was as arid and unforgiving as ever, a sweltering mass of blinding hot sand and the distant rumble of thunder that never signalled rain. Zuko was more than glad that they would be travelling at night, but he was just as sure that his path below wasn't any safer than the one above.

When they finally reached the mess hall Zuko signalled to the guard, who quickly stepped aside to grant the assassin and his prisoner entrance. Once inside with the door slammed shut behind them, Zuko's shoulders instantly tensed. Wasn't he supposed to feel more secure in here with the prisoners than the guards outside who would likely kill him on sight if they knew who he truly was? Maybe before last night, but today he felt hateful eyes lingering on his back.

Zuko surveyed the room with sharp eyes, as if he expected enemies hidden behind a table or an overturned chair, ready to strike out at any moment. But to them _he_ was the enemy. He could tell by the wary looks in their eyes, the way they turned from him when he entered the room. They were angry and afraid.

There was plenty of contempt to go around. It was plain that they didn't trust him after all. And why should they have? He attacked Katara, his friend that he came all the way here to rescue. Frowning, Zuko considered the luck that had let him come this far without killing anyone to begin with. But that luck couldn't possibly hold out, not by tonight. He knew it, and they certainly knew it. What if he snapped again and there was no Katara around to stop him?

"Stop acting like you're walking on egg shells!" Kala snapped, stirring Zuko from dark reverie. "You won't reach them by tip-toeing around." She pushed towards the middle of the room before issuing him a hard look. "They don't trust you? Fine. Make one of them believe you and the rest will fall in line."

Zuko regarded the old waterbender with a look of open incredulity. Very few people had the audacity to address him in such a familiar tone; fewer still didn't immediately drop their gaze when their eyes met, and they certainly didn't man-handle him. But this old woman was different; she was far from afraid, far from intimidated by the likes of him. Zuko was convinced she could stare down stone itself, and he couldn't help but grin wryly at the thought. She reminded him of Katara and how stubborn she could get. Were all waterbenders like this or only the ones from the south?

But while her words might have seemed like wisdom—and they were—what she asked of him was easier said than done. How could he possibly convince these prisoners that they could trust him, especially after what he had done? But there was someone in the room, someone besides Kala, who was not afraid, someone who would not turn away.

Chen.

The old earthbender was openly studying him, not warily like others. Then, without so much as a warning, Chen was standing beside Zuko. He had come up on him so quickly that Zuko hadn't even noticed. Instinct told him to switch into defensive mode, but his mind told him to wait. For once, his mind won out.

"Nice day for a prison break, wouldn't you say?" Chen asked with a grin, and Zuko looked at him sideways. Was Chen really okay with him?

Zuko scratched the back of his head. "Sure, I guess."

Chen laughed and clapped Zuko's shoulder roughly, his entire body vibrating from the impact. "Boy, what's the matter with you? Aren't you here to discuss plans? I really didn't figure you came here for the food."

"No, you're right it's just—" Zuko wiped his palm over his mouth, glancing around at the other inmates "—it just seems like everyone here is waiting for me to go mad again, except you." For a moment Zuko studied Chen, his eyes instinctively narrowing in suspicion. "Why?"

Chen only shrugged, grinning behind his thick grey moustache. "When I joined the royal guard as a young man, I was made the personal bodyguard of the newly appointed king of Omashu, King Bumi.

"He was madder than a hare in spring thaw. Twice every day he'd check his manservants for poison and eat nothing but rock candy, claiming it made him sovereign against the men who threatened to poison him. Once he even had an entire grove of oak trees cut down because they looked at him funny. Then he insisted they be given a proper burial, with him presiding over in oration." Chen leaned in close, his moustache-grin removed. "Do you have any idea how long it takes to bend earth graves for a hundred and forty-seven oak trees?"

Zuko scowled. "How exactly is this helping my case?"

"King Bumi might have been insane, but the man could out-think and out-general anyone. He never lost a battle; not even close to losing."

Zuko raised his good eyebrow. "So you follow me cause you think I can out-general Yin and Yang?"

"I follow you because of who you are," Chen answered gruffly. "You are just as much your mother's son as you are your father's. And if any of us wish to get out of here alive, we have to trust you; mad or not."

Zuko nodded at the old man's words, his confidence slowly returning. Maybe it was best they didn't quite trust him, best they stayed clear of him. Best for them. That way maybe some of them would make it out of here alive.

"Besides," Chen added with a bark of a laugh, "no one's as mental as Bumi, and I have faith that Kala set you right."

"Thank you," Zuko said, before adding, "I think."

Perhaps it was enough that Chen trusted him. While Zuko wanted to be the leader of this group he had to be practical, and he was all too conscious of the fact that he was out of his depth here. He would have to appoint his own general, a man the people would listen to, and that man was Chen.

Lowering his voice, Zuko moved in closer. "General Chen," he said in a firm tone, levelling his gaze on the old earthbender, who raised his brow slightly in surprise at the formal address. "I'd like to test that faith of yours."

"Yeah?" Chen grunted, studying the Fire Lord closely. "And how's that?"

"By asking you a favour."

**.**

**.**

**.**

SHORTLY AFTER HIS conversation with Chen, Zuko was summoned by the standing guard. Apparently Yin and Yang wanted him to interrogate Katara. Though suspicious, Zuko complied, promptly heading to the interrogation floor. He had wanted to find Katara the moment he had awoken that morning, but the niggling shame (or was it fear?) at the back of his mind prevented him from seeking her outright. How could he face her after what he had done—what he had tried to do?

_Be a man_, he told himself. Squaring his shoulder, he walked down the empty hallway and opened the door to interrogation cell one.

Katara was slumped over the table, her arms cradling her head. She was unbound and, at first glance, looked to be relatively unharmed and fast asleep. Closing the door shut behind him, Zuko removed his mask and hood, setting the mask down with a clink on the table. Katara did not stir at the sound, nor did she wake when he touched her shoulder, shaking her gently. A slight murmur of exhaustion escaped her lips and she whimpered, turning her head to the side. He called out her name once, then twice, but there was no movement. She was out cold.

Frowning slightly, Zuko exhaled through his nose and tucked his hood into his belt. His fingers grazed along crisp parchment and he paused. His mother's letters. Gently pulling out one of the letters, he unfolded it and smoothed the fine creases on the table. He glanced over at Katara, who was still fast asleep, and sat down, deciding to let her rest a little while longer. His mother's neat cursive stared up at him, enticing him to read:

"_I look at these prisoners, these people, with a new-found respect that can only come from one who is about to share the same dark path. I pray that I will have their courage someday, to be as strong in spirit and mind."_

Zuko turned the letter over. A new date, a new entry:

_"I brought new life into this world today—a baby born in chains._

_"He is so beautiful, so small and fragile. I'm almost afraid to hold him sometimes, scared that he will break. He reminds me of you, Zuko. You were so small when you were born, so tiny and beautiful. I want to tell him stories of the Blue Spirit, to see the same look of wonder and amazement in his eyes that you had. His eyes—they are so blue, as blue as the sea. They remind me of home._

_"I have decided to name him Ouji. His mother died giving birth, so I took him in as there was no other. I pleaded with Nobleman Kenzo to take the child away from this accursed place—to an orphanage, anywhere but here—but Yin and Yang objected and thrust the child into my hands. It's hard to believe that these two who brought me here were the same ones who saved your life so long ago—"_

_What?_ Yin and Yang had saved him—when? Then it hit him. It was Yang whom he had seen in his dream. It had been Yang who dived into the water and saved him from the rushing logs and ice cold water.

_"I should have known that any personal servant of Azulon's would be just as cold and ruthless and as he. Perhaps they brought me here out of anger, for what I had done to their master. Was this revenge? I suppose I deserve it, but this child does not—"_

Abruptly, Zuko became aware that he was no longer alone. He could feel someone's eyes on him. He glanced up to see Katara's sky blue eyes flutter open to meet his; they reminded him of the winter skies he used to stare up at when he was in the south—solid and clear, but so very cold and empty.

"Katara?"

She lifted her head. Her hair hung in sweat-soaked ringlets down her neck and back, thin strands clinging to her face. She looked dazed, half-asleep, but then she was slowly pushing away from the table and off the chair and onto her feet. She swayed, barely able to hold her balance, but her eyes never left his.

"Katara?" he repeated her name, softer now and gentle, like he was trying to soothe a skittish ostrich-horse. He tucked his mother's letters back into his belt and raised his hands defensively, to show her that he was unarmed. Maybe she was still afraid of him from last night.

Deliberately, she crept closer, a silent shadow crawling in the half-lit darkness. Zuko frowned, watching Katara's controlled movements with a sense of morbid curiosity and peril. But still he watched her carefully, keeping the look of surprise from his face. He didn't want her to think that he was afraid of her, but for some reason he was. He really was. And then she met his gaze again, their eyes locking. Her expression seemed avid and intense and something else he couldn't quite put his finger on.

She drifted even closer until she was directly on top of him, a mischievous fire springing in her eyes. Zuko found his gaze roving over the voluptuous curves of her body, and he shook his head as though he could shake away his inappropriate thoughts. She leaned forward to put her hands on the arms of his chair and unceremoniously lowered herself down on his lap. Shocked, Zuko could only sit still, his back ramrod-straight, as he tried to ignore the comfortable feel of her weight on his thighs. Then, with a sinuous grace he didn't even know Katara possessed, she raised her mouth to his ear, nibbling gently as her soft, firm flesh pressed against his chest.

"Katara—" Zuko swallowed uncomfortably, his voice a raspy whisper "—w-what are you doing?"

She leaned back, gazing directly into his eyes, and smiled. It was an odd smile, an unnerving smile. Then she reached out and grabbed his face, kissing him hard. Stars exploded in front of his vision as he reeled from the impact. He could feel her tongue slice hotly into his mouth and one of her hands came up to grab at the back of his head. Slim fingers ruffled through his hair as she sought purchase on the skin of his scalp.

Her nails scraped across his flesh and pain hit him first before awareness. When he finally had the sense to reach up and lightly push her away, she was already using the momentum of her own bodyweight to push him down off the chair, and her with him. They both fell back, tumbling onto the floor with her on top, and Zuko's head bounced off the stone. She kissed him roughly, devouring him as she trailed bite marks down his neck and across his collarbone.

Even more stars were exploding now, dotting like firecrackers across his vision, and Zuko sat up. He shook his head and tried to grab a hold of his senses. He reached up and seized Katara by her upper arms, flipping her over onto her back. Then they were both turning, winding over each other in their struggle for dominance. But Zuko was stronger; he weighed more. He was already on top of her, pinning her shoulders and head against the wall.

"Katara, stop it!" He shook her shoulders roughly, still feeling the heat of her lips on his neck. "Resist this. Resist _them_!"

"No," she breathed, as she propelled herself forward, knocking him onto his back and sliding up his body. "Why don't we find out if you can resist _me_."

Zuko was about to open his mouth to retort when he felt a sudden cold rush of chi flowing through his body. It was exhilarating and terrifying—terrifying because it was not his own. Something, some strong force, was invading his body, manipulating it. His eyes widened in shock, and he scrambled to get up and get away from her. The only thing was he couldn't. He couldn't move.

"How—" Zuko struggled in vain, his eyes bulging out of their sockets "—how can you bloodbend during the day?" For that matter, how could she do it without her hands or without even moving?

Katara's mouth twisted into an evil smirk. "The real question you should be asking is how I don't even _need_ the moon."

Zuko blinked nonplussed and his eyes suddenly widened, remembering what Kala had told him; how she had seen Katara bloodbending the rats at sunrise. He had even experienced himself, first-hand. Zuko swallowed hard at the realisation, a dry, audible click at the back of his throat. Katara didn't need the full moon; she didn't need the moon at all. This was why Yin and Yang wanted her, not him. And now he was helpless under Katara's control—no, Yin and Yang's.

Straddling his lap, Katara reached down, gently raising his chin with two perfectly slender fingers. She leaned in close, her nose almost touching his. He was unable to blink, unable to turn away. The way she looked at him, regarded him like prey, like something she wanted to swallow whole, made him wonder if the real Katara was even there. Who was this woman? And then she was grabbing him by the lapels of his cloak, pulling him up to her. She crushed her mouth to his in a rough kiss, biting his lip so hard he was sure she drew blood. In fact, he was certain of it, feeling the salty copper liquid dribble down his chin. It had felt less like a kiss and more like her marking her territory.

"Oh, Zuko," she purred, amused. "You fell so easily into their trap."

"What?"

"It was their will that you came here; bringing me here, expecting you to follow." Katara dug her elbows on his chest, resting her delicate chin on her finger as she studied Zuko with her dark, mischievous eyes. "Everything was planned."

Zuko tensed. "For what?"

She licked wetly across her upper lip and grinned before placing her hands on his chest and pushing herself up into a sitting position. "Why, to unlock powers the world has never seen." Her eyes were cold and blue, so blue they could have been polished sapphires—if sapphires were deadly.

Katara then reached down and touched his swollen lip. He winced. She drew back her finger, now covered in his blood, and smiled. Bringing her fingers to her own lips, she dug her nails in deep. A thin stream of blood beaded to the surface and she bent forward, crushing her mouth to his, mixing each other's blood.

"Consider this a blood oath," she said in a husky voice that was not her own, smearing her fingers across his bloody lip. "My blood flows freely in you and you in me." She raised the bloody fingers to her mouth, licking at them deliberately before dabbing at her own blood and bringing it back to his mouth, rubbing it across his lips and teeth. "Let this be the beginning of our union."

"Union?"

She laughed softly and sat back, pulling the dress of her tunic up around her hips. Bare underneath, she wiggled on top of him, bringing her hands to his belt. Helpless, Zuko could only watch as she undid the leather cumber, throwing his knives and letters across the floor. When her fingers slid into the waistband of his trousers, he sucked in his breath before gritting his teeth, the tangy taste of salt and copper filling his mouth.

Smiling, Katara wrapped one hand around his throat and the around his length. He hissed hotly at her touch. It was both warm and cool all at once, tingling. This wasn't her, he told himself. This wasn't Katara. But she was already directly over top of him, pressing him inside her with a hitched gasp. He wasn't sure who gasped first, but he knew he couldn't breathe. Smearing her face against the side of his neck, Katara let go of his neck and began a slow rhythm, her lips dragging against his skin as he bared his teeth in an animalistic grimace.

"_Stop_!" he grunted, trying his best to ignore the pleasure that rolled in waves over his body. "They can't control you, Katara. You're stronger than this."

"You're right," she whispered, nipping at his ear with sharp teeth. "I _am_ stronger."

He tried to move, fingers taut as he willed himself to resist her bending, but she easily threw him back with a flick of her wrist. He was completely immobilised, and she knew it. Planting her feet firmly on either side of his thighs, she tipped her head back and drove downwards, letting her reactions do the speaking for her.

He cried out despite himself, unable to move; only able to watch the chestnut curtains of her hair swaying back and forth with each rippling roll of her hips. With each rise he would suck in his breath, imagining anything but how good it felt to be inside her. But he couldn't ignore the curves and gentle folds of her body or the way she enveloped him fully, pulling pleasure from every part of him. He could feel the firmness of her bottom hitting against his thighs, her sharp breathing on his neck and the scrambling for purchase on his shoulders as her fingers tore through his flesh.

And then Katara came—she came with Zuko gritting his teeth, the muscles in his thighs and abdomen contracting and spasming with barely contained pleasure. She let out her hoarse cries for all to hear, her face turned upwards at ceiling. She felt like a dam releasing, an overpowering current that had swelled and exploded in ripples of pleasure. And that current had rolled outwards towards him, impaling and devouring him with a hot electricity that coiled inside his loins.

With no control left, Zuko gave in, letting that electricity surge. Snarls ripped out of his throat and he came jerkily, his hot semen pumping deep inside of her. He was sweating; his vision was swimming, blurred and spotted as his entire body arched with hers. Then, after a moment, they both settled. She fell forward with a shuddering gasp, trembling as she rested her damp cheek against his chest. Still, he could not move, but he could feel his heart beating wildly as small tremors racked his body. And when his vision finally cleared he became vaguely aware that he was still inside her; she hadn't let him go.

Pulling back from his chest, Katara sat up on his lap and let her head roll back, bringing a hand to the smooth umber line of her stomach. There she sat, eyes closed, slowly breathing in and out. He could feel his own warm semen drying in a congealed smear on his thigh, and he desperately wanted to move out from underneath her. After a minute, she finally opened her eyes and pushed herself up so that she was squatting over top of him, sliding his length out from her with a moan as she stroked warm, wet palms down his legs.

"It is done," she said with a sense of finality, standing to her feet. She wobbled slightly, her legs shaking. When he spotted the wetness on her inner thighs, he turned away in embarrassment.

"What—" he gasped for air, suddenly winded "—what is done?"

"You have served your purpose, _Fire Lord_." Katara grinned down at him maniacally, a touch of the macabre. "Now it is time for you to die." She watched as his face contorted in shock and gave him a little nod. "Let's die with some dignity, shall we?"

With a slight flick of her wrists Zuko was suddenly lurched to his feet with a roaring gasp, as if all the air was being squeezed from his lungs. She was twisting him now, contorting his body in ways it was never meant to be twisted. His back arched so painfully that he was sure she was going to snap him in half. But then she flung both his arms open wide, fingers spread and bending so far that they seemed they must break. He was shaking, like a cloth caught in a windstorm. Dark flakes of dried blood fell from his ears and temples while wet bubbles of blood gurgled from his throat, spilling down his lips and chin. He could feel the vice on his heart tighten, his vision fading.

This was it. He closed his eyes. This was how he was going to die.

"Zuko?" Katara's voice was suddenly soft, a terrified whisper. "Zuko, what's going on?"

He opened his eyes. Katara was shaking like a leaf. She looked confused and frightened; the evil dancing fires in her eyes had been snuffed out, gone. This was the real Katara, _his_ Katara.

"Katara—" Suddenly the pain in his heart and limbs intensified, and he cried out in agony.

"I can't!" She was trembling uncontrollably now, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I can't stop, Zuko! I can't stop myself!"

She was trying to control her hands, but they were working against her will, bending him into excruciating pain. The look in her eyes was terror, pure terror, and he wanted nothing more than to tell her everything was going to be okay.

Was this how she felt when he turned on her?

"Katara, listen to me!" He suddenly felt like he was going to faint, but he gritted his teeth against the pain and forced his eyes open. "None of this is your fault, do you understand me?" She whimpered in reply, barely holding on. "It's up to you now." He could feel the black fingers of unconsciousness tearing through his head. "You have to get them out of here."

"No!" she screamed, straining as she agonisingly turned her hands towards herself. "I. Will. Not. Let. Them. Win."

And almost as soon as it had begun, it ended. Zuko immediately fell forward, slumping to his knees. His hands reached up to his chest, groping desperately as the pain slowly subsided. He could breathe again; he could move again. He was alive.

He was alive? How?

Zuko glanced up to where Katara had once stood, but she was no longer standing over top of him. Lying in a crumpled heap on the floor was his best friend. She had bent herself into unconsciousness. Slowly crawling over to where she lay, Zuko picked Katara up and cradled her limp body in his arms.

"Everything is going to be okay," he whispered into her temple like a mantra, nudging his forehead into the crook of her neck. "Everything is going to be okay."

But everything wasn't okay.


	15. She Rises

KATARA HAD TRIED to empty her mind of all thoughts, leaving just the basic input of her senses. She quickly discovered that her head was filled with all sorts of thoughts that did not care to be dismissed.

In the mental chaos of her mind one thought had become many and the many thoughts had each dispersed down diverse roads towards goals that seemed equally diverse but were, in effect, one and the same. But what that singular goal was, she did not know. Or maybe she just didn't want to know.

"Ugh, I can't!" Katara threw back her head so that it connected painfully with the wall.

"Keep trying."

"It's too much, Zuko." She brought the heels of her palms to her watery eyes and inhaled deeply. "It's just too much. I'm sorry."

"It's alright." His voice was gentle and forgiving, which only made her feel worse. "We'll figure something out."

Since Katara woke up Zuko had been trying to get her to figure out what the twins had done to her; why they had made her attack him and how she was able to resist their behavioural imprint. Consciously, Katara couldn't begin to surmise the hows and whys, and when she tried to access this information on her own she only seemed to come up against mental roadblocks. It was as though something or someone else was in possession of her own mind.

It was one thing to be told what she had done to Zuko, but it was another not to remember it, to not know why she had done it and if she would ever do it again. Her stomach rolled mutinously at the thought of what she had done, what she was capable of doing. How had she so easily taken advantage of Zuko like that and then tried to kill him? For what purpose? A child? What did the twins want with a child from her and Zuko? What kind of monster were they trying to make out of her?

"I'm gonna take you back to your cell." Zuko picked up his hood and mask, not yet putting them on. "Maybe Kala can do something for you."

Still seated on the cold floor, Katara could only nod mutely. She was almost glad that she couldn't remember what she had done, and she wasn't too keen on having Kala lay it bare for her. Katara still remembered what it had felt like when Zuko forced himself upon her. But he had managed to pull back at the last moment; he had resisted and begged her to end his life before he could hurt her.

Did she beg him to stop her? He never said. But Katara knew that Zuko could never bring himself to hurt her, even if it meant his life. And somehow that just made what she had done all the worse.

"Since you're, uh—" he fumbled for the right words "—that is since last night there has been a slight change in plans—"

"Don't!" Katara clamped her hands over her ears and shook her head before lowering her arms. "Don't tell me the specifics. Who knows if I'm still under their control."

Zuko bent down and placed a hand on one of her thin shoulders. "Katara, look, you're the _only_ one who's ever fought them on your own, completely fought off their control."

"Yeah," Katara snorted derisively, "and look what I had to do in order to fight off their influence—bloodbend myself into unconsciousness."

Zuko winced at the mental image but quickly recovered, offering her a humourless smile. "Well, that's something." When she didn't respond, he squeezed harder. "Katara, you're the stronger of the two of us. You can do things that no one else can."

"I guess," she muttered despondently, turning so that Zuko's hand fell away. She understood his implications; she would have to fight, she would have to bloodbend. But the disturbing thought wasn't that he needed her to do it; it was that she _wanted_ to do it.

"I know you don't wanna hear the specifics, so just listen to me carefully." Katara glanced up to find Zuko's gaze firmly fixed on her. "I need _you_ to lead everyone out of here."

"Me? But why?"

"Yin and Yang know who I am. They know everything; they've _known_ everything, probably since the beginning." He rubbed his weary face with his palm. "Chances are they know about our escape plan, and the only thing we can do now is be unpredictable."

Katara didn't like the sound of that. "Where are you going to be?"

"I'll be with you as long as possible. They're bound to look for me when they find out that you didn't kill me as planned, or maybe not." He dropped his hand and exhaled noisily through his nose. "I'm going to do everything in my power to protect you, Katara. I promise."

"Don't talk like that!"

"Katara—"

"No, Zuko!" She stood to her feet and began to angrily pace the length of the floor. "You have no right to promise something like that. I am not some fragile porcelain doll! My life isn't more important than anyone else's, certainly not yours."

Zuko flinched as though she had struck him, and suddenly he was at her side. He was a man of proper size who, in that moment, towered above her. His face seemed hacked from stone and his gaze weighted a threat in it. Anger and readiness radiated from him, a lion on the brink of charge. Had death been a man, Katara was sure it would have been Zuko.

"You are the only one who can lead everyone out of here alive!" he barked, and then his tone softened, conflicting sharply with his angular features. "You are my friend, Katara. Taking care of you is my duty. I knew the moment I came here to find you it could mean my life." His eyes narrowed into dangerous slits of burnished gold. "You can demand me of anything, but _never_ ask me to let you die."

Now it was Katara's turn to reel as though she had been hit. His words struck her like a blow to the stomach and she exhaled sharply. Her eyes started half out of her head and her mouth worked soundlessly, but no words would come. Recovering quickly, she squared her jaw and glanced away in embarrassment.

"Fine," she muttered, folding her arms beneath her breasts. "Do what you want."

Zuko said nothing. The two stood silently next to one another, neither saying a word as the tension hung thickly in the air. After a moment Zuko put on his mask and escorted Katara back to her cell. On the silent march back, Katara tried to convince herself that no one would get hurt tonight, that everyone would be spared. But even she knew that was a fool's hope.

**.**

**.**

**.**

YIN AND YANG strolled through the top level of the gallery, making their way to a pair of doors that opened out onto a narrow stone balcony.

Collecting a breath of fresh air, the twins leaned casually against the stone bulwark. Though the desert air was hot and dry, it was slightly better than the stale air that pumped through the prison. Yin and Yang hadn't stepped outside in days, which was fine enough for them; the desert didn't offer them much in the way of entertainment. Although this close to the south tower the view was little short of spectacular. Too bad they couldn't partake in the golden panorama.

Yang scooted towards the edge of the balcony and leaned over the sheer drop-off. Stationed a few metres below were a two-man sentry; poor fools who were undoubtedly frying in their own skin in the sweltering heat. Yang's sightless eyes pored over the landscape without seeing, his jaw clenching tightly as his sister smiled.

"You're likely to grind your teeth to dust if you keep that up," she remarked dryly, before saddling up beside him. "Speak, Brother."

"The waterbender has yet to report her progress."

Yin shrugged and turned, placing her back against the precarious railing. "I already checked up on her." She took in a deep breath and sighed. "Seems she failed."

"You checked up on her without me?" Yang's hands were gripping the edge of the ledge, his knuckles paling.

"Oh, don't pout," Yin cooed, sensing the frown on her brother's lips. "It will give you wrinkles." When Yang only responded by grinding his teeth again, Yin reached out to touch his cheek in an attempt to quell his frustration. "Feeling morose today, Brother?"

Yang flinched and roughly drew away from his sister. "No, I'm angry. You checked on her without me." He crossed his arms over his chest. "When were you going to tell me she failed?"

"I told you now, didn't I?" Yin sighed dramatically, her bottom lip folding out. "Don't be angry with me, Brother. I just wanted to take a peek at her progress."

Yang raised an eyebrow. "You mean you wanted to see if she could sense you."

"That too." Yin's rosebud mouth curved into a devilish grin. "You know had she been successful the two of us inside her head would have completely overwhelmed her."

"I still would have liked to have been informed _before_ you entered her dreams."

"Yes, yes." Yin dismissively waved away his complaint. "In retrospect, I admit that it may not have been one of my best ideas, but I was just having a bit of fun."

A hot updraft wafted past Yang's face, carrying the fine granular mist of the sand below. He grimaced, catching the faint scent of the ocean on the breeze, salty and pleasant.

"I don't like this." Yang uncrossed his arms and let them fall to his sides. "We went deep enough; it should have worked."

"On an ordinary person, yes," Yin conceded with a nod. "But we did not choose her at random. We knew she was exceptional from the beginning. We knew this would take some time."

"And now we're running out of it."

"Not necessarily." Yin grabbed a fistful of her braid and flipped it over her shoulder. "It wasn't a complete failure; she _was_ successfully triggered. Let's be honest; we didn't think it would happen so quickly." Yang nodded reluctantly in agreement. "And if Kage-san hadn't noticed the change in her behaviour and knocked her out before she could fulfil her task, perhaps the mission would have gone as planned."

Yang pursed his lips in annoyance. "Did she say anything to him?"

"No."

"So she wasn't able to—"

"No." Yin took in a deep breath and leaned forward against the ledge. "Looks like we'll have to resort to Plan B."

"Tonight, then?"

Yin's lips curled into a wolfish grin. "They'll never know what hit them."

**.**

**.**

**.**

KATARA WAS USED to uncertainty in her life. It was the price she paid when she became the Avatar's fiancée—to always be on the move like a nomad on the prairies or in the skies. Of course phrasing it that way wasn't right or fair to Aang. She loved him, but she couldn't bring herself to love the way he lived. She wasn't used to it, not even after all the adventures they had been through together as teenagers.

Katara was the embodiment of her element; fluid yet bound by paths and crevices, sometimes even locked by land. And although she could leave the confines of the water bed, she would inevitably return home to the sea. A waterbender and daughter of the Southern Water Tribe were about community, an aspect of Katara's life that had been sorely missing for years. So yes, she was used to uncertainty; knowing that she could go from safety to danger in the blink of an eye. But that didn't mean she had to like it.

Over the past few years, travelling from place to place, Katara had found herself longing for her youth; when things were easier and predictable. But in the end, nothing was predictable—least of all herself. She knew she might have to kill in order to get everyone out of here alive; that much was expected. What she hadn't anticipated was the absence of stress, the lack of moral qualms she had about killing. Had she become that disassociated, that disconnected, that _willing_ to kill another man?

Who exactly was she now?

She thought back to her earlier conversation with Zuko, when he had told her she would have to bloodbend in order to get them out of there. Katara had vowed after her showdown with Hama, after the events leading to Yon Rha, that she would never use her bending like that again. But after only three weeks of incarceration in this hell-hole she had easily gone back on her word. The idea of manipulating someone else to suit her needs didn't bother her anymore; death no longer bothered her.

She had seen men die before, seen them being tossed and crushed, drowned, frozen, impaled and burned. She had seen them bleed, heard them scream and howl with pain, listened as they cried for their mothers. Some would twitch afterwards, their rag-doll limbs shuddering in thrall to the last sparks of life. Others would literally break, bodies broken and shattered when they hit the ground, spilling red liquid shards of bone and sinew.

And as much as she tried to avoid bloodshed, Katara had always found a kind of morbid fascination with it. Lately, when bloodbending the rats, she had discovered that her fascination had only grown, like a bubble inside her chest that was gently expanding, making her want to watch every last spasm, every desperate scrabble for one more breath, every crushing realisation that it would never come.

So when Zuko hesitantly told her it was a hard thing to kill a man, she had actually laughed in his face. How was it hard? A punch could kill a man if you did it hard enough. Less than a pound of pressure from a blade could pierce the skin and burst the capillaries underneath; a little more pressure and it could rip through bone and muscle quicker than most people could blink; the same could be done with ice. Water could either quickly or slowly drown a man, depending on how you wanted to go about it, and bloodbending—well, there were several creative ways to burst arteries and crush internal organs. It was as easy as flicking your wrist.

"It isn't difficult to kill," Zuko had agreed. "My uncle always used to say that death was a natural function of life; to every beginning is an end. But as humans what we attempt to control in and outside of nature has its repercussions."

"What do you mean?"

"As your actions change those around you, you also begin to change with them."

The morbid bubble in Katara's chest had swelled and burst at the thought, sending shockwaves through her ribcage and rattling her heart in its holdings. She hadn't considered this. And now thanks to Yin and Yang she was sure that she was changing too. The loss of time, the dreams, the obsessions, the flippancy, the perverse pleasure in each new form of the end—it was all pointing to something sinister and not remotely herself.

"But it's not for certain, right? You can change back, can't you?" There had been a strange quaver in her voice that she had never heard before.

"Death is always inevitable, as is change." Zuko had shrugged uncomfortably. "All I'm saying is to be careful. It's easy to lose yourself in the blood-lust; the hard part is stopping."

"I can stop myself," she had whispered to herself, though not as confidently as she would have liked.

"But are you prepared?"

"Prepared for what?"

"Are you prepared to kill?"

She hadn't answered him, and after that they had never talked about killing and bloodbending again, not until this morning. Now Katara's breathing was hitching; her hands were trembling. Was she really becoming someone else, losing who she was? Or had this dark part of her always existed, lying dormant inside, just waiting to be unleashed—waiting until Yin and Yang came along and lifted the floodgates?

Katara let her gaze drift down to her hands, feeling the primal power curl in her fingertips. As much as she wanted to disavow any knowledge and any claim to the dark powers that surged inside her, Katara could not deny her fate. With a defeated sigh, she rose to her feet and calmly walked over to the right divide of hers and Kala's cell. Kneeling, she closed her eyes and pressed her lips near the narrow crack in the wall.

"Kala," she whispered. "I-I must ask you a favour."

There was a drawn, calculating silence, and a heartbeat later the old woman spoke, "What is it, child?"

"I . . ." Katara paused, trying to collect her thoughts. How was she to phrase this? "I need you to promise me something." Her entreaty was met with that same shrewd silence, but she continued, "If I lose control, if I turn on _any_ of you tonight, I-I need you to put me down."

"Katara, you do not need me to for that." The old woman's voice was gentle yet firm. "You are strong enough to resist."

"Please!" Katara's voice was strained, tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. She needed Kala to do this; she was the only one powerful enough to stop her. "Please, promise me you'll do this. Promise me you'll stop me from hurting—" she wanted to say Zuko "—_anyone_."

The old waterbender sighed and a long, pregnant pause followed. Katara swallowed dryly, waiting for a response.

"Kala?"

"Does hurting the guards count?" the old woman queried, and Katara blinked, nonplussed.

"Uh, no?"

"Okay, then," Kala agreed. "I promise."

Katara heaved a half-laughing sigh of relief at the old woman's words and smiled. "Thank you, Kala. Thank you."

It was a calming reassurance, to know that someone besides herself had Zuko's back, that someone else could protect him from herself. Katara just prayed that Kala's assistance would not have to be called into play.

**.**

**.**

**.**

AT NIGHTFALL ZUKO came for her.

Katara silently followed him out of her cell and down the narrow, deserted passageway. Trembling, she wrapped her arms around herself for warmth as she walked, but it wasn't the cold that made her shiver in the desert heat. It was the thick, musty lurch of nervousness burrowing in the pit of her stomach; it was the phantom fear and ebb of upcoming battle nausea. But more than that, it was the kind of sickness that signalled loss. The loss of whom or what she did not know.

She kept close, tracing Zuko's passage along the walls and staying in the shadows. She took tiny baby-steps on the tips of her toes, as though her lightness would produce less noise, but then her legs were swiftly swinging like pendulums as she tried keep up with Zuko's longer stride. After a few false starts and stops, they finally made it to the rendezvous point where Zuko had instructed the others to meet.

They were all clustered together in the shadows, waiting, hiding. Katara felt a hot pinch at the back of her neck and a cold lump form in her throat. Something didn't seem quite right. She had asked Zuko not to inform her on the change in plans, but now she was starting to feel apprehensive about her lack of knowledge. Something was amiss.

Everyone was huddled near the exit point, waiting for instruction, and Katara absently wondered how they had all managed to escape here without notice. Even with Ouji causing a distraction there had to be at least one or two guards left behind to watch over the prisoners. How could they not notice thirteen prisoners missing from their cells? The only explanation she had was that Zuko must have staggered their escape.

Scanning the weathered faces in front of her, she frowned. "Where's Nutak?"

"I released Nutak earlier, along with Ouji," Zuko explained, groping his hands along the dark stone walls. "They're the ones providing us with a distraction right now. We'll join them at the second entrance on the hill."

"What about Bo and Chen?" Ken asked a little gruffly. "Where are they?" There was a quiet murmur as the rest of the prisoners, except Po, glanced around for the two missing earthbenders.

"We're not leaving without them," Pana added, draping a protective arm over his sister.

"We're not leaving anyone behind," Zuko said in an exasperated tone, positioning himself underneath the vent, which he removed with ease. "They're all fine. Trust me."

His answer was met with silence. Everyone seemed hesitant to accept his declaration, and Katara's shoulders slumped forward. The sad fact was they didn't trust Zuko; maybe they never did.

"Trust you?" Pana snapped. The waterbender removed his arm from his sister's shoulder and took a step towards Zuko. Pana was one of the survivors of the Northern Siege. He and Pinga were the only ones here besides Katara who knew of Zuko, who had heard of the prince long before he switched over to the Avatar's side. "How do we know you're not working for Yin and Yang; that this isn't some sorta set up?"

"Set up?" Zuko snorted derisively. "For what purpose? You're already in prison."

"Some Fire Nation design, maybe." Pana shrugged feebly. "I dunno."

Zuko shook his head. "This is ridiculous." He turned around, addressing everyone now. "You all trusted me before and now you don't? What is this, cold feet?"

Katara swallowed nervously. Was everyone already backing out? They were already turning on one another or, more precisely, on Zuko—the man who had come up with the plan to set them all free in the first place, the man who was risking his life and his crown.

"Who says we trusted you?" Pinga spoke, siding with her brother. Although her voice was less certain, less vitriolic.

"You all did, yesterday!" Zuko spat, exasperated.

The Fire Lord's anger was starting to get the best of him, so Katara stepped in between the two parties, giving them some distance. She made to interject, to play the peacemaker, when Kala spoke first.

"Do you know why they don't trust you?"

Zuko surprised Katara and probably himself by managing a laugh. "Because they think I might assault them in their sleep?"

"It's because at the end of the day you are the Fire Lord," she answered; a dangerous gleam flashed in her rheumatic blue eyes and was gone. "And we have never known a Fire Lord we can trust."

Everyone had gone mute, including Zuko, whose mouth was slowly working yet no sound was being produced. Kala, of course, was right. None of these prisoners knew a fair and just Fire Lord, had never known a peaceful Fire Nation. Zuko couldn't pledge promises on his crown or his honour; he had to give them a reason to trust them, to humble himself in their eyes.

Inhaling sharply, Zuko reached up to remove his mask and hood. With his face naked and exposed, he was allowing everyone to see him as he was, not who he was pretending to be; Kage-san, the assassin. Tonight he would be facing them not as a Fire Lord but a man; Zuko.

"It came to my attention earlier today that Yin and Yang know who I am." The immediate responses to his announcement were a few gasps and curses. "It's more imperative than ever that we all escape tonight; so that is why I asked Chen and Bo to clear a path to the underground entrance ahead of schedule with Po here—" he glanced over at the other earthbender, who nodded curtly at the acknowledgement "—to cover up our trail.

"Now I'm telling you all this because you deserve to know. My identity puts you all at risks. If I had've known, I would've done things differently. But here we are and the hour is nigh. Events have been put in motion that cannot be undone. If you want to turn back now, go ahead. I won't stop you. You can either stay here for the rest of your lives or you can take a chance.

"I'm not asking you to trust me as the Fire Lord. I'm not asking you to trust me at all." He motioned to Katara with a gloved hand. "I'm asking you to trust her because she will be the one leading you all to safety."

Katara paled at Zuko's words. "W-what about you?"

"I'll be bringing up the rear, providing you guys with cover—if it comes to that." Zuko slid his mask back into place without the hood and removed the waterskin that hung off his shoulder. He handed it to Katara with a soft smile. "It's not much, but I've seen you work your magic with far less."

Katara took the waterskin with a grateful smile as everyone else fell into line, momentarily sated with the Fire Lord's words. Still, Katara wasn't sure that they trusted Zuko, certainly not the way she did, but they seemed to respect his honesty. Once the talking was done, action took over and they all piled towards the vent, silently slipping out one by one.

Everything was going smoothly and quickly. Crouching men lifted Katara up into the vent, which she crawled through for several metres before being collected by Zuko outside. Exposed to the cool night air, she could feel something tug at her; a force so strong she could barely breathe. She glanced around, searching for the source. Above her was nothing at first but the inky blackness of the rushing night sky, a flowing tapestry of darkness spotted with the occasional burning star. Then she turned and the pulling force came partially into view; the moon.

Zuko's hand was on her arm now, steering somewhere in the half-muted darkness. The wind blew, a soft whistling in the air, and she waited to feel it on her face but it never came. It was as though she was being sheltered by elements. Though there was no way for her to verify where she was, she somehow knew they were near or outside the prison's outer walls.

She followed Zuko quietly, as did the others, cringing at every soft rustle and sigh. Then she spotted what looked to be a set of stairs descending downwards into a half-exposed tunnel, like the sand had been gutted to form a concave path. Once they climbed down and began to move forward, Katara found herself breaking out into the open night much sooner than she had expected, the air finally rushing unimpeded against her face.

It seemed like she had only travelled a few metres from the edge of the darkness and surfaced into the pale moonlight. Had they tunnelled under the wall? How was that even possible without making a noise?

With Zuko standing outside the tunnel and surveying the lay of the land, Katara headed off in what she assumed was the right direction. Leading the others, she moved as quickly and quietly as possible in the narrow tunnel; so narrow it required everyone to walk in single file. She had no sooner covered the distance of three yards when a raised and slightly alarmed voice addressed them overhead.

"What are you doing out here?"

Katara was more than a little surprised to see the two guards who appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Zuko must have miscalculated the timing of their patrol. They didn't seem to notice her, though, or the rest of the prisoners who were now crouching low in the tunnel partially hidden by sand and darkness. Their eyes were on Zuko alone; curious and apprehensive.

Katara flicked off the cork to her waterskin, but Zuko subtly waved her off and shifted towards the guards. "Save your strength."

Suddenly he was moving forward, quickly and confidently, crossing the gap between them and the guards in huge loops and swoops. His footwork was fantastic, the stuff of dreams. A shiver went down her spine as she watched him move, the way he used the space. He hadn't even drawn his swords and his enemies already lay face down in the dirt.

Two more guards advanced from the side, and Zuko's entire body was suddenly whirling and twirling like a dancer's, drawing their attention away from the prisoners. His wrist jumped and the shurikens flew from his fingertips in a blur; his hands no sooner had twitched before he was moving again, throwing darts in the silent air.

One of the guards' caught the knife with his face and crumpled to the ground. The other guard moved in, bristling with terror and indignation, but Zuko had been fighting this battle single-handed since they got the drop on him and he wasn't about to lose now. He twirled again, black hair twisting and curving like silken whips, and for just a fraction of a second his gaze shifted to Katara's; his lips curved into a broken smile.

That was when it hit her, the real reason why everyone looked at Zuko differently, the reason why no one quite trusted him, the reason he was always alone and why it suited him. Zuko was a monster. Not a monster from children's bedtimes stories with claws and sharp teeth, not monsters of cruelty and deception like Yin and Yang, but something different, scarier—someone like herself. But where Katara sometimes lacked control, Zuko was a monster of conscience, barely restrained but held in check only by his own discipline.

He was a myth in the making.

Without realising it, Katara found herself gliding towards Zuko, picking up the slack as the downed guards rose back up. The two benders collided with a strange sort of heat; their movements coiling together, smooth and effortless, complimentary. They danced, weaving intricate, mystical patterns across the sands; he fighting with blades, she with water.

Katara could feel the restless power rising and surging within her, and her fingertips made contact with the water. She knew that in all people there was that dangerously thin line that separated the nervousness from the anticipation, the guilt from the pleasure, the tension from the snap. And as Katara glided from movement to movement, watching Zuko unleash his carefully controlled fury—not with the fire but with steel—she knew that Zuko was now the master of that line; he was the embodiment of it.

But where did that leave her?

Zuko was so close to releasing his fire that Katara could feel the vibrations of his chi, the stirrings in his blood disguised in that aura of stillness that he wore around him like a cloak. The last guard fell listless to the ground; none of them rose again. And suddenly Katara realised how very cold she was, how heavy her head felt.

The sand was soft when she hit it; her eyes closed all by themselves. An eternity later and her eyelids finally fluttered open, reluctantly like butterflies without wings. Everyone was looking down at her now. Zuko's hand on her forehead, checking her temperature.

"Katara?"

"They're near," someone whispered behind her. _Kala_.

Katara moaned softly, and Zuko's hand shifted to her cheek. "You okay?" There was such compassion in his eyes that she had to look away.

"Yes." She sat up in his embrace as his hand slid away from her face. "I'm fine."

Zuko didn't say anything at first, just turned to look behind them, past the unconscious guards. He was staring off in the distance; eyes keen and alert. Zuko, like Katara, knew that it was no mere chance that she had fainted. The fight had only lasted seconds and she had barely fought to begin with; there was no way she would have become that weak that easily unless . . . unless Yin and Yang were near.

"You'll take point," he ordered, helping her to her feet. "Follow the path and take these just in case." He fished a pair of spark rocks from his belt and handed them to her.

Katara frowned. Zuko didn't need these things; he was a firebender. Why carry them? That's when the horrible thought struck her; Zuko always knew he was never going to make it to the underground city with her.

"What about you?"

He jerked his head in the direction of the prison walls. "I'm going to buy you guys some time."

"Zuko." Her voice wavered in her throat. She reached up to touch his cheek, what skin was exposed beneath the mask. "Be careful."

He nodded, placing his hand on top of hers. "Be safe," he said. "Be strong." Then he leaned in close, his lips grazing along the shell of her ear so that he could speak the words that only she could hear—and Katara shuddered.

**.**

**.**

**.**

ZUKO STAYED BEHIND, and the rest of them continued on. No one and nothing else troubled them for the rest of their journey.

They travelled half a kilometre before Katara and company emerged from the gorged sand dunes that Chen and Bo had paved. After a brief rest to gather her bearings, Katara led her party through the long, smooth path, gritting her teeth as blasts of sand threatened to bury them. She would occasionally glance back, to see if the others were following along and if Po was sufficiently covering their trail. However, those weren't the only reasons for her extra vigil; she was also looking for signs of Zuko, and she prayed that the twins hadn't found him.

After a few minutes Katara heard something; no, _felt_ something. She signalled for the others to halt and crouch low in the half-dug tunnel. They waited in silence, waiting for something or someone to pass over. It could very well have been a guard or Zuko or even the twins. Katara didn't know, and she felt blind out here in the dark, even with the full moon shrouded in the sky.

Another long minute passed and Katara signalled for them to rise, resuming their march to the underground entrance. As they continued down the man-made path that same unease crept back into Katara's skin, causing the fine hairs on the back of her neck to stand up. That was when she noticed that the path had ended; there was no carved route left for them to follow.

She stopped and glanced around, panic half-concealed in her eyes. Where was the entrance? Where were Bo and Chen? Had the wind simply caused the tunnel to be buried with sand, or had something happened to the earthbenders? She saw no one, nothing; there was just the howling of the wind and the endless sea of sand.

Her heart pounded at the thought of being lost in the desert, her enemies waiting in the wings. But she refused to lose herself to panic and fear; she had the others to look after. So she squared her shoulders and turned back towards her companions. First, she needed to collect her bearings, find out exactly where they were and how close to the entrance. In order to do this, though, she would have to escape this darkness with a little more light.

It was a risk. There was still the chance that her enemies were nearby, waiting for her to slip up and reveal her location. But with no route and no visible means to locate the hidden entrance, Katara would have to take that chance and produce some light.

She groped in her pockets, finding the spark rocks Zuko had given her, and motioned for Pinga to bring her one of the torches they had planned to use in the tunnels.

"What's wrong?" the girl whispered, but Katara didn't answer.

"There's no trail anymore," someone else said, accompanied by a few gasps and several grunts of disapproval.

"What are you talking about?" Po grumbled, shoving his way to the front of the line.

The tunnel had ended; there was no door or entrance, no Chen and Bo in sight. Nothing.

"We're lost," Ken muttered, followed by a soft, feminine cry.

"We're lost! We're going to be captured!" Pinga panicked; her voice thick with fear. "There's no hope, is there?"

"There's always hope," Kala said, lightly touching the young woman's shoulder to comfort her.

Katara ignored them and fumbled with the spark rocks. She didn't need this. She didn't need everyone freaking out on her, not now

"Maybe we should turn back."

"Turn back?" Katara dropped the rocks. "I will not turn back! I will not give up so easily." Her temper was flaring, burning out on the edge of something terrible, but she could not stop herself. "What do you have to look forward to here? To live? Is that it? To simply live—is that good enough for you, for all of you?"

The Fire Nation men exchanged wary glances while Pinga and her brother began telling Katara that they also meant to keep going on. Kala simply gave her head the smallest shake, made the slightest shrug, while Po openly rolled his eyes.

"Spirits above and below!" he bellowed. "Everyone just shut up and get a move on!"

Katara mumbled darkly to herself and picked up the spark rocks to resume her work when a brilliant pool of silver light suddenly washed over them. Everyone glanced up.

The clouds above were breaking apart with strange, indescribable shapes, revealing the full moon overhead. Katara breathed in deeply. It seemed as though her destiny was written in its mysterious white pockets. It was the source of her strength and her weakness.

And that was when she saw it; a twinkle of light coming from inside a large alcove nestled between the sand dunes. The entrance.

"There it is!" she cried, pointing up ahead, but the others were still crouching low in the tunnel.

Katara's body began to tingle all over, vibrating with the power of the moon overhead. She felt invisible and vulnerable all at once, and that was when everything went to hell.

"Master Katara," a familiar voice addressed her formally. "Were you planning on taking a moonlit stroll all by your lonesome?"

Katara turned to see warden Kenzo standing at ease several yards away. His hands rested behind his back, acting like a man with no worried. There were at least a half-dozen guards with him, all firebenders—all _master_ firebenders. But judging by the way Kenzo spoke, the way his eyes focussed on her alone, it appeared that neither he nor his guards had yet noticed the other prisoners below.

_Kala, lead them into the tunnels_, Katara thought to herself, picturing the alcove entrance in her mind. She could only hope that the old woman was listening and had picked up on her thoughts.

"I suggest you all turn around and go back to your prison," Katara threatened, turning so that Kenzo and his men were facing away from the underground entrance. Her fear and alarm were already under control, at least on the outside.

"There are seven of us and only one of you, Waterbender." Kenzo sneered, taking a bold step forward. Katara didn't have much water left in her waterskin, at least not enough to take on seven well-trained firebenders, and he knew it. "What are you going to do?"

_Are you prepared to kill?_ Zuko's parting words rang in her ears.

"I guess I'll have to make you leave, then," Katara said in a thick voice, slowing shifting her body into an offensive stance. The power from the full moon was staggering, making the blood boil in her veins. She could feel that same blood stirring in the others; she could feel the warm crimson liquid calling out to her, begging to be commanded.

"You and what army?"

_Are you prepared to kill?_

"I don't need an army," Katara growled, a cruel smirk twisting on her lips. She raised her hands as though she were about to conduct a symphony. "I'm my own army."

Kenzo's eyes narrowed at her words, and he released his hands from behind his back. "Fine. So be it." He turned slightly to address his men. "It's time we showed this little waterbender what us firebenders can do."

As the men shifted into their stances, Katara closed her eyes and breathed evenly through her nose. Delving deep into her core, she found the warm pulsing heat of her own chi and drew greedily. With the power throbbing inside her, her arms stole fluidly in the air without thought, her fingers curling as she curved her wrists into a precise arc and series of movements.

The firebenders were eerily still, their mouths agape. They could feel the pull. Their own powers were dwindling in the presence of the moon. Their own limbs stilled into inaction.

"Let me teach you something a friend of mine taught me long ago," Katara said calmly, her eyes opening and her smirk deepening. "You rise with the sun; _I_ rise with the moon."

She pulled roughly at the source of her power, feeling it fill her, hammer down on her like thunder. A flood of light then bottomless darkness seized her all at once and she shifted, feeling the guards' blood call out to her with a tug from her fingers.

The moon rose behind her like a beacon, ballooning righteously in the night sky. A silver coldness washed over her as the energy bubbled like molten lava within her core. She had to use this power now; use it or be enveloped by it.

Katara wasn't even aware that she had already begun bending until she saw the seven men simultaneously lift up onto the tips of their toes, their bodies rigid but pliant. She could not even have said what she had done in order to do this. It was as though something had taken over her. The power of the moon throbbed inside her like the heartbeat of the world, pulling and shifting her further into its gravity.

Suddenly, she had to do more than this—something more than simply suspending seven men in the air. The power of her chi was sliding along her bones now, pure essence of water and fire and maybe every element known to man. It froze her marrow and tainted her mind. She knew now that she needed to immobilise them completely; all of them at once.

The energy began to roll over her in waves, and she drew deeper and deeper inside herself, into a bottomless well of power, until her body screamed, frozen and inflamed. She had to kill them. She had to kill them all.

She closed her eyes and her hands began to move, controlling the guards' movements like a manipulator working the marionettes' strings. Some moaned while others shrieked as she twisted and pulled. Sweat dripped down her face as she instructed her puppets to dance, watching them writhe in pain as she tore them apart from the inside out. Blood dribbled down their lips; some coughed up great gasping mouthfuls of it. The air around her seemed to be roiling and collapsing inwards, whining as it whirled about her face.

_STOP!_ At first Katara thought it was Kala speaking to her; a faraway voice whispering forcefully in her mind. But she soon realised it was her own.

The energy was still racing through her, a raging torrent that threatened to carry her and everyone else into the spinning void. Blood and ashes, devouring them all. She had to let go. She had to. She forced her eyes open, and it was like she was looking into the vast, limitless depths of the ocean. She had to stop . . . had to let go . . .

_NOW!_ The thought struck her like lightning on the rim of her awareness. She severed the flow of energy around her, leaving her body whirling and reeling, winding down to a numbing buzz that shook her loose.

Kenzo and the guards fell to the ground, some gasping but all unable to move. She wasn't sure if she killed any of them; she wasn't sure of anything. All she could do was stand there, quivering with spent power still coursing through her veins.

With her enemies incapacitated, she finally lowered her hands and sighed in relief, letting all the air rush out of her lungs. She slumped to her knees, exhausted but still trembling with adrenaline. She felt a strange, prickling sensation spread all over her body as icy fingers curled into her brain. Shutting her eyes tightly, she silently cried out in pain. Her fingers could no longer feel the water or sense the heated blood surrounding her. It was as though she was being held immobile in the empty cold of space.

It was terrifyingly familiar.

The air around her crackled like thunder, and she twisted herself around to look for the source. Her head suddenly felt loose, like it might pop off if she wasn't careful. And then she saw it, saw them. Her eyes grew wide as she spotted three figures emerging from the shadows, as though rising from the sands. Yin and Yang, as calm as the gliding moon above, stood silently in front of her. But it wasn't them she was interested in.

"Zuko!"

Her friend was glancing down at her, as silent and still as the air. There was nothing in his eyes, nothing in his mouth, nothing in his soul that even hinted at recollection. It was as though he was staring through her, like she didn't exist. Was she imagining it all?

He stepped forward and bent down, his inky black hair tumbling like curtains in front of his eyes. Mask gone, his face was exposed, but somehow he seemed scarier without it. He extended a gloved hand and she numbly took it without question, allowing him to lift her to her feet while she searched his dull golden eyes.

"Zuko?"

"I'm afraid he's on our side now," Yin spoke, breaking the connection. Her mouth curled into a sliver of a smile as she turned to glance up at the expressionless Zuko. "Isn't that right, _Nephew_?"


	16. With The Moon

HE HAD PERSONALLY come to retrieve them; travelling great distances alone over perilous waters and unforgiving terrain. He could not entrust this mission to any sort of messenger, no matter how loyal. Only a handful would know the truth of this day, and those who lived would take the secret to their graves.

"M'lord, we have arrived." The servant had a properly humble suppleness to his voice and stance, even to the trick of downcast eyes while still managing to observe his lord's movements, just in case. "Is there anything more you desire from me, m'lord?"

Instead of answering, the man made a tiny dismissive gesture, and the servant bowed deeply before backing out the room. Outside, soldiers maintained their watch to ensure that their lord was protected and undisturbed.

In the dark room he saw her. So much had changed. She was subdued, sitting on a bed with a newly born baby suckling at her teat while another slept soundlessly in the crook of her arm.

"You've come to take them from me." It was not a question but a statement of fact, without a trace of accusation.

Since it was not a question, he did not answer. He wouldn't have answered, regardless. She did not deserve explanations or reasoning.

Unbidden tears began to stream down her face, and he was almost inclined to reach down and wipe them away. But instead he watched them fall—for the last time.

**.**

**.**

**.**

THE PALE MOON still hung in the brightly-lit sky as the east wind blew across the capital. Here was a place of splendour, where the rich and noble fair-skinned people of the Fire Nation congregated for business and politics.

Fire Nation flags caught high in the breeze and with it carried the tang of salt from the ocean below. Across the harbour the wind roared, rocking small ships against the shore. Gleaming white and red beneath the unfettered sun, spires and walls and colour-ringed domes rose up out of the city streets and canals bustling with industry. At its highest peak, in the centre of all this splendour, was the royal palace.

From her lofty perch, a handsome woman with long black hair and light-coloured eyes ignored the trappings beyond her nation. She had learnt long ago that this world was only an illusion, a mirrored reflection of misplaced beliefs. And the people inhabiting this world were blinded by these false beliefs, such as the belief that the great bending powers were contained by rules and order. But there was no such thing as order, only chaos.

Yet the fools insisted on watching the wind carry dust and deep summer heat, believing that all was right with their world. They were blind fools, Yin reasoned. Soon she would lift the veil from their eyes.

"Sister, he is waiting."

Yang stood behind Yin on the terrace; waiting patiently with his hands clasped together behind his back. His long, unbound hair lifted in the wind, lashing against his face like delicate dark whips. They shared the same hair and colouring, brother and sister; they even shared the same slender build and face. When dressed in heavy robes, they were often mistaken for one another. Totally androgynous and identical. It was liberating in its own way, the certain sort of anonymity it gave, but Yin wasn't satisfied with just being the other half of a whole; she was her own person.

Skin prickled between her shoulder blades as she kept in step with her brother; through the palace hallways tiled in dozens of pleasing hues they walked with confidence. The tingling sensation grew, and Yin grimaced. It was the sense of being watched; a crawling feeling that usually meant those watching her intended her harm. Not that she was afraid. Death was nothing to fear. Everyone died, today or any other day. But Yin was confident no man could kill her, especially when she was in arm's reach of Yang.

She glanced over at her brother, who shared the same angry apprehension, and followed his observant eye. It was fixed on Fire Lord Azulon's sons, Iroh and Ozai, who were fast approaching them in the hall. Yin's lips curved into a barely perceptible grin. She didn't even need to gently probe their minds to know which prince wished her and her brother harm.

"Crown Prince Iroh," Yin and Yang greeted formally in unison with a slight incline of their heads. Their eyes barely passed over the younger brother. "Prince Ozai." Without pausing to stop, Yin and Yang continued on their way.

The princes did not command them, so it was not expected for the twins to observe proper obeisance. Yin and Yang held their own level of respect in the palace. They wore Fire Lord Azulon's insignia and were recognised as shoguns under his personal standard. Still, the youngest prince did not see them as important or as a threat. They were barely out of earshot when they heard Prince Ozai's contemptuous voice.

"Insolent servants. They have no proper respect for their superiors."

"Brother, they are father's personal retinue." Iroh's tone was wise yet harsh, like a crown prince's should be. "They deserve your respect as much as you demand theirs."

Yin curled her slender hands into fists and kept walking. She was no mere servant, and definitely not inferior to the likes of Prince Ozai. Her steps quickened and Yang easily kept pace. Servants scurried past them, keeping close along the walls; bobbing bows and dropping their eyes almost as if they understood the shame they lived.

_Look away_, she thought. _I am nothing like you!_ No, she was part of Fire Lord Azulon's personal retinue—one of only two entrusted with the security and well-being of their lord.

When they finally arrived at the war room, their master was waiting for them behind a wall of fire. Unlike the servants, Yin and Yang held their heads high; their eyes drawn to rich red and gold silk tapestries and the gilded stand-lamps lining the room and the deep moat of fire that encircled the Fire Lord's throne. There was so much danger and beauty here; it was majestic.

"M'lord, you called for us." Both Yin and Yang spoke as one, knelt as one.

"Rise," the elderly lord commanded with a lift of his hand, and the twins were back on their feet. They bowed in deep respect. "I have an important task for you both."

They waited expectantly as he lowered the flames to gaze at them directly.

"As you know, my son Iroh will soon be leaving for his campaign in Ba Sing Se and his brother Ozai will be carrying out the crown prince's duties in Iroh's absence." Azulon's golden eyes flickered dangerously in the light of the dying flames. "I want you two to observe Ozai in his efforts—discreetly, of course."

"Yes, m'lord." Yin and Yang had been called on several times to observe many of the Fire Lord's most trusted advisers and generals, as well as enemies, and this was not the first time they had been asked to keep watch on his youngest son.

"I would also like to hear more about your recent studies." He lifted a grey eyebrow in curiosity. "Learnt any new techniques?"

The Fire Lord had found out about the twins' unusual bending powers long ago, much to their initial worry; however, Azulon had been supportive of their powers and their secrecy. Unlike other help brought into the palace at an early age, Yin and Yang were treated special, raised to be Azulon's personal servants. They were educated and raised like noblemen's children, and for that the twins had always shown their utmost respect and gratitude for a man they considered their father.

Even when they displayed no talent for firebending he did not shun them. His sons least of all understood this, Ozai especially. The great firebending prodigy Azulon allowing two non-benders to be his personal guards? It was unheard of. Azulon was indeed a cruel and pitiless man, but he recognised and highly regarded talent when he saw it, like the rare gifts possessed by his eldest born and his most loyal servants, Yin and Yang.

"I'm afraid dreamwalking is the only technique we have perfected thus far, m'lord," Yang answered with proper humility. Yang, even more than Yin, hated to disappoint their master. But Lord Azulon did not seem upset, nor did he seem entirely convinced.

"Surely there is something else that you have not . . . perfected."

Yin and Yang shared a very private and discreet look out of the corner of their eyes, barely perceptible.

"Yes, but it is rather dangerous," Yang said with some hesitancy, while Yin smiled in triumph. Of course it was dangerous; it was very dangerous and it was a technique that _she_ had discovered herself.

"Show me."

Yang's eyes widened with shock. "O-on you, m'lord?"

"Will it kill me?"

"It is possible, m'lord."

Azulon's brow furrowed in serious contemplation. "Have you tested this new technique on others?"

"Yes, m'lord. Three prisoners."

"And the results?"

"Two of them died."

Azulon grinned, as though pleased. "Then bring in the one that did not die and demonstrate your new technique for me."

Yin's smile widened. This was the opportunity she had been waiting for, to properly prove her worth to her lord and master.

"Yes, m'lord," they spoke in unison, bowing lowly.

"I have high hopes for you two," Azulon said in a tone mixed with pride and warning, and the twins did not miss it.

"Thank you, m'lord." They bowed humbly once more. "We will not disappoint."

They would prove themselves greater than Azulon's sons, even more powerful than Azulon himself—if only to demonstrate their utmost respect for their master. They would earn his favour a thousand times over, and perhaps one day he would acknowledge them as they had dreamt about since children.

**.**

LETTING OUT A long breath, Yin sagged into one of the cushioned chairs in the royal library. She and Yang had just returned from their trip to Ba Sing Se and Yang had persuaded her to stop at the library with him so he could find a certain book he had been searching for.

The siblings had spent their month-long vacation researching and tracking down the possible origins of their powers, leaving Li and Lo in charge during their absence. They had still kept track of Prince Ozai through dreamwalking, as Lord Azulon had instructed, but less than a week ago the Fire Lord had interrupted their vacation to send them to aid his son, Iroh, who had recently lost his son, Lu Ten.

"Have you ever heard of The Fifth Column?" Yang asked his sister, who had picked up her silver goblet from the tray next to her and drank deeply.

"I believe they were a secret military organisation before Lord Sozin's time." She filled her cup and took another drink of the sweet wine. Travelling and researching was thirsty work; not to mention tedious and tiring.

"They were a secret and influential group of men that engaged in espionage and acts of sabotage against the ruling power of the Fire Nation," Yang clarified. "You see, the Fire Nation wasn't always a monarchy. It was once a republic with a senate and head of state. But certain influential factions within the nation believed the senate was corrupt and called for their disbandment and the creation of a monarchy."

Yin tsked in annoyance. "If you knew all that, why did you bother asking me?"

"Because no nation of citizens wants to be ruled by a single monarch," Yang answered derisively. "It mentions here that Fifth Columnist were known to bend the wills of others; almost like magic." Yang held the book open for his sister to read and she sat up, setting her goblet down on the tray before snatching the tome from her brother's hand.

"Mindbenders?"

"It doesn't say," he muttered, and then pointed to a collection of books. "These annals are supposed to contain everything and yet that one in your hands is the only one that mentions the organisation in passing." He paused his finger on his lip. "In order to gather more information we will have to visit Wan Shi Tong again."

"Agreed," Yin said curtly, handing back the book. "The more we know about this Fifth Column the closer we are to discovering the truth of our powers."

Yin went back to refilling her cup when Yang motioned for her to pour him one as well. She handed him the silver goblet and, as their fingers touched, a feeling of absolute dread stole over them both at once. A flash of their master's face swallowed their vision, and the silver cup fell out of her hand, crashing to the ground as red wine spilled everywhere. Yin's mouth hung open, emitting a wordless keening, and right then both brother and sister knew.

They quickly took off out of the library, scaring the servants as they ran. Voices cried out as they sprinted past, indistinguishable but frightened. Yin ignored them and gathered her robes, lifting them up as she raced wildly down the halls. She was the image of conflict, anger, and fright struggling to break through fixed determination. She had never felt this kind of fear before, and it was amplified by the shared feelings of Yang.

"Brother—" She didn't need to finish her sentence; he already knew her thoughts as she shared his. Yang was already bursting through their lord's door with a force she had never seen him demonstrate before.

Yin drew in a long deep breath and glanced warily about her master's suite, finding Azulon lying peacefully in bed. If she was thinking about her own security in that moment, she had cause. She and Yang had done much to anger those they were sent to investigate on Azulon's behalf, much to fear in the form of retaliation. But there was no shame in feeling fear, only giving way to it or letting it show. She felt a flutter in her belly as she and her brother approached Azulon's resting form.

Their old master's eyes were closed, as if he was sleeping. His breathing was shallow and laboured, coming in short, wet gasps. He was dying, of that there was no doubt. How, she did not know.

Yin swallowed hard, her throat constricting as she did so. There was a hot, prickling sensation at the back of her eyes, but she did not allow herself to cry. Then, as though sensing their presence, Azulon opened his eyes with great effort. There was no fear on his face, just calm acceptance—and something else she couldn't quite place. Maybe it was a look that only the dying or those who had walked that road before could understand.

"I knew you'd come," he said softly, his pale, wrinkled hand slipping out from underneath the sheet.

Yang took their old master's hand in his. "M'lord, who did this to you?" When Azulon did not answer, Yang pressed his lord's hand to his forehead. "We have failed you."

Azulon tried to shake his head, but the effort was too great. Instead, he licked his dry lips and blinked slowly. "No, I—I have always been proud." His gaze slowly went back and forth between the two. "If only you had both been born of Ilah."

"M'lord?"

"Words fail me," he croaked. "I haven't much time." The Fire Lord raised his hand, giving them permission to read his mind, offering them his last thoughts. It was an intimate gesture, and Yin hadn't even noticed the tears that were tracking down her cheeks. This was their lord and master, giving them one last piece of himself to them—only them.

Holding hands, Yin and Yang sought Azulon's confession. Memories spun like a spider's web, delicate and fragile, and they traversed through them like the arachnid herself. Images came and went like raindrops; a grey-eyed woman reaching out for her children as a man took them from her, the small babes nestled in his arms. His golden eyes were intense, gazing down on them as he traced their tender cheeks with his fingers.

_"Will you even love them?" the woman asked._

_"Of course I will," Azulon replied with great dignity. "They are my children. They are my blood."_

_"They are mine too!" the woman cried. Even for her subdued state there was fire in the woman's words and in her heart. Azulon seemed to respect this about her, even admired it. Yet underneath that vein was unmasked contempt._

_"Yes," he regrettably conceded, "which is why I cannot claim them as my own."_

_"Then why take them from me?"_

_"Because they are _mine_, like you once were."_

_The woman's breast swelled with indignation and deflated just as quickly. "Please, Azulon." Her proud head fell. "Please do not take them from me. They are all I have." But her words fell on deaf ears, and he turned without looking back._

_"Now you are left with nothing but your thoughts."_

"This." Azulon painfully lowered his sheet, revealing a small leather-bound journal gripped tightly in his right hand. "Seek your fate," he rasped, tapping a long finger on the book. "Become destiny."

Azulon then drew in one final bubbling gasp, let it out, hitched in a smaller one, and just quit. His eyes didn't even close as his body went limp, air expelling from his lungs.

"M'lord!" Yang cried, clutching at his father and master's hand. "Master Azulon!" The journal was still held tightly in the dead man's hand, warm to the touch.

Yin brought her own hand to her lord's eyes and gently closed the lids. She could feel the grief surging in her brother's heart as if it was her own; for it was hers too. But this was not the time to mourn—not yet. She had to remain vigil. Only a fool stood by crying and scratching her head while a lion was still hiding in the tall grass, creeping up on the herd she had been set to guard.

Yes, there was still a large and murderous cat freely roaming these palace halls. One that had to be put down permanently.

**.**

AFTER PAYING THEIR respects, the family, friends, and officials began filing out of the funeral chamber.

Yin felt that familiar prickling sensation return as the newly titled Fire Lord Ozai stepped inside the suite, his amber eyes downcast. Yin's breath caught in a growl. Nothing in his stance spoke of danger, yet she instinctively knew he was the one who put that crawling sensation between her shoulder blades. And though he may not have put the poison in Lord Azulon's mouth, he was responsible—of that much she was certain.

"Yin, Yang. Your Fire Lord must ask you a favour."

Yin's jaw clenched in anger, but she suppressed the emotion. Both she and Yang inclined their heads in well-rehearsed servile obedience.

"Lady Ursa left the palace late last night. I need you to find her and take her somewhere safe, away from the Fire Nation."

Yin subtly reached for Yang's fingers and the two stealthily probed Ozai's mind. The new Fire Lord's eyes widened for a moment and then he winced, bringing a hand to his head.

It was always dangerous probing a mind this way, even for all their practice. There was always the worry of suspicion, that their mark would suspect what they were doing, which would make the process far more difficult. It helped that Ozai was currently emotionally vulnerable, whether this was due to his father's death or his wife's disappearance or both. Trust was essential when wanting to easily read or compel another person. Luckily for them, Ozai had no idea what powers the twins possessed and, because of his father's death, his guard had been lowered.

_"Father, you must have realised, as I have, that with Lu Ten gone Iroh's bloodline has ended. After his son's death my brother abandoned the siege at Ba Sing Se and who knows when he will return home! But I am here, father, and my children are alive."_

_"Say what it is you want."_

_"Father, revoke Iroh's birth-right. I am your humble servant, here to serve you and our nation. Use me."_

_Azulon leaned forward, pointing a gnarled finger at Ozai. "You dare suggest I betray Iroh, my first-born?" Fires rose from the trenches, mirroring the Fire Lord's anger. "Directly after the demise of his only beloved son? I think Iroh has suffered enough. But you, your punishment has scarcely begun!"_

The memories shifted.

_"Father says I must kill Zuko."_

_"What?" Ursa's face was seized with a look of terror. "What are you saying?"_

_"He said I must understand Iroh's pain—the pain of losing a first-born son by sacrificing my own."_

_"Ozai, you cannot!" She clutched at his robes, pleading with tears in her eyes. "He is your son!"_

_Ozai removed his wife's hands. "I must obey the will of my Fire Lord and father. If only there was another way . . ."_

_"No!" Ursa shook her head. "There must be another way!" Her eyes narrowed determinedly. "I—I will help you. But, by doing this, you have to promise to help our son."_

_"Ursa—"_

_"Promise me, Ozai! Promise me our son will not die!"_

"Of course, Prince Ozai," Yin said coldly, swallowing the venomous bile that rose in her throat. She would not call him Fire Lord Ozai. She refused to give him a title that he had stolen so cowardly. Convincing his wife to do the deed and using his own son as incentive? Oh, he would pay; they would all pay.

Once Ozai and the others had left, Yang turned to his sister in the silence of Azulon's funeral chamber. He clutched their father's journal tightly in his hand. Both knew their past and their future was in that book; all the secrets they wanted and needed to know.

"What does this mean?" Yang asked, referring to the memories they had stolen from Ozai's mind.

"It means our father was murdered," Yin answered simply. "And we cannot let our treacherous half-brother keep the throne, nor allow our father's murderer simply be banished." Her thoughts drifted darkly to Ursa, a woman whose son she and Yang had once saved before. "She will languish in hell for her crime."

Yang's thumb caressed the leather spine of the journal. "And what about our mother?"

"We will find her," Yin said without hesitation. They had just discovered who their father was before his death; they would not lose the opportunity to find their mother alive. "First, we must bring back the Fifth Column; then we will find her."

Yang's free hand curled into a fist. For too long they had hidden themselves in the shadows, never truly knowing who or what they were. But now they were free to discover their fate and become destiny like their father had told them. And then they would show the world what true power was.

"They will pay for their crimes!" Yang spat, his mind murderously intent on Ozai and Ursa.

"A thousand times over, Brother," Yin agreed. Her pale amber eyes smouldered with unbridled hate. "We will make them feel our pain."

**.**

YIN ROSE AT first light, preparing herself before exiting the lower cabin to stand out on deck. She inhaled the salty tang of the ocean air and glanced upwards. The sky was blue and cloudless with the sun slowly peeking over the horizon. Past the shoreline were rounded meadows with valleys and small mountain peaks and dark forests.

"I can't believe she lived so close to the capital all this time," Yang mused, helping his sister off the moored boat. "She's either mad or brilliant."

"Probably a bit of both," Yin said, stepping onto the dock.

For the past five years the twins had expended their resources in order to secretly revive the Fifth Column, as well as gather intelligence on their enemies and the whereabouts of their mother. And now, after their long search (which seemed much longer than five years), they had finally found her. How were they going to introduce themselves? How would she react to seeing them?

The two ordered a coach and made their way inland to their destination. Damp rustling stirred in the treetops as colourful birds took flight. The scent of fire lilies filled Yin's nostrils, and she almost wished she could see the fields of flowers in their colourful glory, but such images were faded to her eyes now. So while Yang silently faced the window, Yin raked her long dark hair through with her fingers before tying it into a loose braid. She looked bored but was anything but; her mind was racing at the possibilities of this long-anticipated meeting.

After an hour's journey by carriage, they finally reached their terminus. Stepping outside, the twins glanced up at the large stone building with its red pagoda-style roof. The officials were already waiting nearby, ready to escort them onto the premise. Without any words exchanged, the twins dismissed the guards and carefully made their way down to the prison floor.

_Steel yourself_, Yin told Yang, but her words were as much for her own benefit as they were for his.

They slowly passed by the numerous empty prison cells, save two, until they reached the end of the mile. The last cell door on the left was unlocked and easily slid open, revealing an old, manacled woman standing near a tiny window. Her back was turned to them; her bound hands rested on the sill, gnarled fingers tapping against the stone.

_You are steel_, Yin repeated to herself.

When the old woman still did not acknowledge their presence, Yin's fingers found Yang's. Instinctively they seized the power within as one and began reaching outwards.

"You try to read my mind and I will crush your hearts in your chests, blood relative or not."

"How did you—?" Reluctantly, Yin and Yang let go of the power and no sooner had it left them a rage bubbled in its place, white-hot and searing. How dare this woman threaten them?

"I suppose you're both wondering how I know who you are." The old woman finally turned to face them. Her long white hair was done in a half-bun at the back and her wrinkled lips were curved into a deceptively genial smile that did not quite touch her misty grey eyes.

"Yes," Yang answered truthfully, stepping inside the room.

"I knew you'd come for me eventually, which is why I've never tried to escape from here." She gestured to her tiny, dismal prison. "Oh, this place is nothing," she assured them. "I've been kept in far more dire places, as you must already know."

"They fear you," Yin spoke suddenly, unsure of why she was so freely voicing her thoughts.

"People fear what they do not understand."

"You are dangerous—" Yin nodded "—like us."

"I am something a bit different," their mother admitted after a moment's pause. That strange and disturbing smile was still lingering on her lips.

"How did you know we were coming?" Yang asked, and the old woman's smile seemed to widen unnaturally.

"You were walking in my dreams, were you not?"

"You know of dreamwalking?"

"I do."

"Then you also know we are your children?"

"What other twins would walk in my dreams, especially ones with eyes and faces like Azulon?" Their mother stepped towards them, bringing a wrinkled hand to Yang's implacable stone cheek. "But you two have aged a great deal better than he did, or I for that matter." She dropped her hand and turned to face Yin. "You must tell me your secrets."

Yin frowned. A part of her wanted her mother to be more pleased or more emotional when confronted with her long-lost children; not treat the entire affair like some sort of tedious business transaction. But then this meeting wasn't meant to be a tear-felt reunion. Still, another part of her wanted to lash out and ask her mother why she never tried to find them. But the answer was obvious: Azulon would have sent her back to prison or worse.

"When did he finally tell you about me?"

_He didn't_, Yin thought to herself. "He left us a journal."

"Yes, Azulon was always a man of few words but many evil deeds." The old woman's grin grew bitter. "It was his solitary quest to bring down the Southern waterbenders—the entire Southern Water Tribe, to be exact. But unlike the others captured, I was brought to the palace first."

"Azulon wrote that he was impressed by your skills and your beauty," Yang said. "And so you two began an affair."

The old woman snorted derisively. "It certainly wasn't out of love, if that's what you think—definitely not on my part. And it's almost safe to say that it was only lust on his. A firebender and a waterbender?" She guffawed. "No, that was highly taboo, especially for a Fire Lord."

"But you stayed with him at the palace."

"For three years as his personal concubine." Her light grey eyes misted over in remembrance. "Or perhaps mistress is more accurate. I was a secret from his wife and family, even his friends and closest advisers. Although I'm sure they all knew. What Fire Lord keeps a waterbender in his palace? I was no healer."

"Why didn't you escape?"

"Because I had nowhere to go." She shrugged indifferently. "And even if I had, he would have found me. But eventually I found my opening. One night after making love, I attempted to kill him, but he stopped me. Somehow he knew.

"He should have killed me in return, but I suppose he took pity on me—or perhaps he wanted me to suffer living. He sent me to a prison on a desert island in the middle of nowhere. There I gave birth to you two nine months later, and then he took you both from me." Her grey eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "He had me drugged and subdued and tore you from my arms while you were still feeding. After that—after I had nothing left, I plotted my escape."

"But how? We've been to Ka'shi. How did you escape?"

"Why, through bloodbending," Hama answered simply, as though it were the most obvious answer in the world. Her wrinkled lips curved into a knowing smirk. "What, you two thought you were the only unusually gifted benders of the family?"

**.**

**.**

**.**

THE NIGHT AIR had gone silent as soon as Yin finished speaking. The moon above bathed the twins' marble-like features in a silver glow as a low wind swept through.

Zuko stood still next to them, his expression blank, unperturbed by the terrible tale that had been told. But Katara had been deeply affected by Yin's words. Her body slightly trembled as a shudder ran up her spine. She felt like vomiting.

"Hama—Hama is your mother?"

"Was," Yin corrected with little emotion. "She's dead."

Katara's mouth worked soundlessly, but the words would not come. Hama was dead? When? How? "I don't—I don't understand Hama's role in this or mine. What do you want with me and Zuko?"

"You are the key to something very special," Yin answered. "It has everything to do with hereditary lines; Zuko's and your own."

"Hereditary lines?" Katara brought her fist to her chest, feeling the indignant anger swell inside her breast. "You want to _breed_ me, make me give birth to someone like yourself!"

The Truth-Seer's lips curved into a wry grin and she shook her head. "No, we want you to give birth to a long-forgotten myth. We want you to bring back chaos."

"I don't understand."

"You're not meant to," Yang said dryly. "But you will . . . soon enough."

Katara glanced over at Zuko. He was standing absolutely still and expressionless. It reminded her of Jet when he was under the Dai Li's control. Maybe she could wake him up from this spell or, at the very least, stall the twins so that the others had enough time to escape to the harbour. She owed Zuko that much; she had promised him that she would lead the others to safety. But she couldn't leave him behind.

Her eyes drifted over the twins, carefully studying them. She could attack them now—bloodbend them and maybe break their hold on Zuko—but she was still drained from the earlier battle. What she needed was to bide her time and regain her strength, then she could strike back.

"But why Zuko? If he's so important in whatever scheme you have whipped up in your heads, why do you want him dead?"

Yin glanced up at the motionless Fire Lord. "Because he no longer serves a purpose in our grand scheme."

"You mean you want him off the throne," Katara said behind gritted teeth. Her blue eyes had narrowed into dangerous slits, and Yin only grinned at the waterbender's angry perception.

"That too."

"There's still Princess Azula," Katara argued, but Yin waved her hand dismissively.

"The princess can be managed. You'd be surprised to know how many people can be . . . managed."

Katara's fists clenched tightly, and she threw an arm in Zuko's direction. "Then why have him here if you want him dead? Why set him against me?"

"Because we want you to see him when he is defeated—when _you_ defeat him."

Katara backed away; fear lining her belly. They wanted her to kill him? "No." She shook her head, tears tracking down her cheek as she recalled what they had tried to make her do this morning. "No, I won't! I won't!" He was their nephew and yet they wanted him dead. Was this part of their revenge against Ozai and Ursa for killing Azulon—to destroy their entire family? "You're monsters!"

"No, Master Katara." It was Yang speaking now; his voice a low, carrying baritone. "_You_ are."

Katara reeled, as though she had just been slapped across the face. _She_ was the monster? A quiet but dark voice deep inside egged her on, tempting her to prove their accusation. And though she didn't want to listen to it, Katara felt herself drawing on the power of the moon regardless. Despite her exhaustion, she drew from the source like a well, determined to drain it dry.

"Ah-ah!" Yin's finger waggled warningly in the air. "You don't want to do that."

Suddenly the air around her seemed to turn white, blanking Katara's sight. There was a sound—a distant roaring like a waterfall that lay beyond hearing—and something struck her, as if she had fallen from a great height and landed on something hard. Then her mind began to scream of fire and ice, and she reached for her head with both hands. But just as quickly as the pain had sliced into her brain, it vanished.

Her eyes slowly opened, staring up at the night sky. The moon looked strange, blurry somehow. For a moment she could not move, and when she did, she gasped. She hurt everywhere. She could feel something wet on her face and brought her fingers to her nose; her fingers came away bloody.

"Do not fight it," Yin growled; the effort from mindbending was evident on both hers and Yang's faces. But Katara had not resisted; she had not fought off their psionic attack.

_Kala?_ Had Kala come back for her?

Katara had no time to check her theory, for an instant later there was a soft shuffling sound, like the wind blowing through the sand, followed by a loud snapping noise and a sharp cry of pain. Zuko had broken Yang's fingers between Yin's, interrupting their connection.

Yang's eyes widened in surprise as he cradled his broken fingers to his chest. "But how—?" He had no chance to finish his question. A heartbeat later Zuko's foot struck out, delivering a powerful blow to the Truth-Seer's chest. As he stumbled backwards, Zuko took this opportunity to dive between the twins, engaging them both at once in hand-to-hand combat. Though initially shocked, the twins recovered with surprising alacrity, easily evading every hit; however, as they bobbed and weaved, Zuko did his best to keep them separated.

Katara was too stunned to react, still lying in pain and paralysis on the sand. Everything was happening so quickly but she could almost swear the entire scene was unfolding in front of her in slow motion. Then Zuko was driving Yin back and away from Yang. He was floating through the air, reaching for the dagger in his left sleeve and hurling it at Yin's heart in the same motion. The second knife came into his right hand smoothly and left just as easily, heading for Yang in the opposite direction. The two blades drifted through the air, and at the same time he punched two blazing jets of fire at Yin's head.

But the twins were almost as fast as Zuko, eerily fast, and managed to avoid his front-on assault. Or maybe it was that they could anticipate his every move. And then just as suddenly as he was soaring. Zuko was falling back to the ground, twisting in the air as his hands reached back to retrieve his dao swords. The world lurched back into normal motion and he landed on his feet in the sand. He held both swords out in front, lunging forward as he continuously drove Yin back towards the tunnel entrance. He had wanted them separated, to keep Yin constantly preoccupied, but Yang was gaining on him.

"Kala, NOW!"

Without word, the old waterbender appeared from the man-made tunnel behind Katara. She began to advance on Yin with her hand outstretched, her rheumatic blues eyes focussed on her enemy. The female Truth-Seer suddenly cried out, her eyes bulging as one hand went to her head as if it had been sliced through with a knife, while the other feebly reached out for the separated Yang. But her brother was currently on the other side of Zuko, unable to help as he was now battling his nephew head-on.

Kala, meanwhile, did not relent with her mental assault, walking steadily towards the incapacitated twin. With a groan, Yin fell to her knees; both hands were cradling her head now. She was writhing in absolute pain, completely immobile in Kala's mental grasp.

Feeling his sister's pain, Yang faltered in his footsteps. Both Truth-Seers were struggling now; without Yang, Yin was weak, but without Yin, Yang was nothing. Zuko took this opportunity to deliver a swift kick to Yang's solar plexus, winding him before slipping around from behind and delivering a swift blow to the back of his head with the hilt of his sword. Yang crumpled soundlessly to the ground.

But even with her brother down and her mind ensnared, Yin was far from defeated. She began to draw from reserves of strength that Katara could not even begin to fathom. Yin shakily rose back up to her feet, twin trails of blood tracking out of both nostrils. Katara could see the mental strain that was taxing both women, especially Kala. Her hands trembled as she tried to force Yin back onto her knees, but her hold on the strongest twin was slipping. Zuko tried to advance on Yin, to use the same tactic on the sister as he had the brother, but Kala shook her head.

"Not yet," she said behind gritted teeth, and Zuko obeyed, but not before bringing his fingers to his lips and whistling loudly.

"Chen!"

Columns of rock rose sharply from beneath the sands; chunks of the underground city were uprooting themselves in the desert. The dark rock swiftly circled in between Yin and Yang, separating and trapping them both before flattening out to form something similar to a sheet of metal; yet this material was thicker and composed of more rock than metal.

Out of the corner of her eye, Katara saw Chen and Bo seemingly rise up from the sand dunes themselves. Each earthbender was focussing on his own quarry. Chen manoeuvred his legs, hips, and arms into a series of hard, strong motions, trapping Yin inside the stone-metal binding while Bo did the same with Yang.

"Held!" Chen shouted. He tightened the makeshift stone-girdle around Yin's midsection, causing the Truth-Seer to finally pass out.

"Held!" Bo yelled shortly thereafter, having done the same to Yang.

Zuko slipped the dao swords back into their sheaths and quickly trotted over to where Kala stood. He gently grabbed her by the elbow and asked her if she was okay. She was trembling slightly but nodded in affirmative. The old waterbender was mentally exhausted but seemingly unharmed. Chen came running over too, but Kala looked rather unimpressed with all the attention she was receiving. She gently shoved the earthbender away and once again reaffirmed that she was fine.

Katara, however, was completely gobsmacked. Everything had transpired in a matter of minutes; she didn't even have the time to process what had just happened. But suddenly the paralysis was gone and she was back on her feet, running across the desert towards Zuko. A thin trickle of blood ran down his nose and he wiped it away with the back of his hand before catching her as she leapt into his embrace. She encircled her arms around his neck and buried her face into the hollow of his throat.

"You're all right," she said, bringing her head back so that she could touch his face. "I was so worried. So worried."

Relief flooded Katara's heart all at once, and her head returned to his neck. Zuko was okay; he wasn't under the twins' influence, he wasn't in any danger. More than that Zuko had been in complete control of the entire situation. Somehow Kala had helped him keep the twins out of his head, and Bo and Chen had been lying in wait the entire time. It had all been a set-up.

"So this was your big change in plans?" she asked, finally letting go. He took a step back, his hands still resting on her hips, and nodded slowly.

"Parts of it."

"That won't hold them for long," Chen said, pointing to the unconscious twins. "Especially not when these bastards wake up." He then motioned to Kenzo and the guards Katara had earlier subdued. They were slowly waking up.

Katara's hand touched Zuko's chest, her relief now giving way to worry. "What do we do now?"

"We make a break for the ship."

* * *

**Author's notes: **Some number-checking—Azulon was 42 when he met Hama (22), after the near destruction of the Southern Water Tribe. Their affair lasted for three years before Azulon shipped Hama off to prison. Yin and Yang are younger than Iroh but older than Ozai. The twins are 68 at this point in the story. Yes, they do look quite young for their age and, yes, there is a reason for that, which you'll find out later in the sequel! ;)


	17. Precipice

BENDING A BALL of flame in his palm, Zuko held it aloft as he and his party made their way through the low and narrow entranceway.

The others had waited for them inside, wide-eyed but calm and waiting for instruction. Zuko lit torches for the earthbenders, who he quickly sent ahead. Once they left, he paired everyone off and took it upon himself to lead the rest of his company down the dark, winding pathways, not daring to allow more light than necessary. They didn't need their enemies following them so easily.

Katara kept in step with Zuko, keeping as close to him as the narrow passageway could afford. She reached out and gripped his arm above the elbow, as if to make sure he was real, that all of this was real.

"I know I asked you not to tell me about any changes in your plan, but how—how did you do it?" Her fingers pressed into the fabric of his tunic with a sense of urgency. "I thought you were under their control. I thought—"

"I was fine," Zuko reassured her, lifting his right arm to awkwardly pat at her hand. "Kala was helping me the entire time. She was the one who made Yin think you hadn't succeeded in your—" he paused, trying to find the right word "—_mission_."

"How?"

"You'll have to ask her." He glanced back at Kala, who was being helped along by Pana. Manipulating Katara's dreams and keeping Zuko's mind free from invasion while battling Yin had taken their toll on the older woman, and the Fire Lord was worried for her health. "She can manipulate dreams, just like the twins."

Katara merely nodded, half-listening to his words. There seemed to be a bigger question on her mind. "Why didn't you kill them?"

Zuko's eyebrows rose into his hairline for a second before settling back down on his face. He had expected her to ask why he hadn't taken the twins hostage while they were briefly incapacitated in the desert, but he had not anticipated her questioning why he hadn't killed them.

He was instantly rocketed back to their earlier conversation about life and death, and how taking a life changed a person. He had been hesitant to encourage her to commit such an abhorrent act, though he knew she was entirely capable. Killing now had become inevitable, and there was no doubt in his mind that Katara had involuntarily killed one or two of the guards. But there was no way she could have killed Yin and Yang. Zuko wasn't sure if anyone could.

"Because of something Kala told me." He turned to look her in the eye. "We're imprinted, you and I, and we have no idea how to fix that, at least not yet. There's no telling what would happen to either of us if Yin and Yang died. Their deaths could trigger our activation or whatever else they have in store for us. Not to mention the countless other Sleeper agents they most likely have stationed in positions of power across the world."

Katara dropped her hand and her shoulders slumped forward in defeat. "So, we're brainwashed and can't do anything about it."

"We'll find a way," Zuko assured her. "I promise you that. But, in order to fix what they did to us, we need to keep Yin and Yang alive."

"Then why did you leave them in the desert? Why not take them with us?"

Zuko ran his tongue along his incisor and shifted them through the narrow passageway into a slightly roomier chamber.

"What Chen and the others did won't hold them for long, and if we were to just take them as is, they would have overpowered us or triggered the both of us in a heartbeat." The flame in his palm brightened, reflecting swirling whorls of liquid gold in his eyes. "But it's you who I'm really worried about."

"Me too." Katara shivered slightly, as though there were a cool draft in this unbearable subterranean furnace they were currently navigating through. She hugged herself and glanced back at the group who were following closely and frowned. "Where are Ouji and Nutak? Shouldn't they be here?"

"They're fine. They're implementing another part of my plan." He wanted to tell her more, but the less she knew the less the twins potentially knew—or at least he hoped.

"So, are we just going to make a break for the ship and hope we get there first?" Katara joked, and Zuko hazarded a smirk.

"Have more faith in my plans than that."

"I'll try," she said not too enthusiastically, but she did not question him any further.

The rest of the walk continued in silence, and they emerged from the dark, winding passageways into a series of kilometres-long natural tunnels that interspersed with hewn ways and small squarish chambers. The tunnels themselves were hot and dry and black as basalt, tracked with ash that had been layering for centuries after the city's untimely and mysterious ruin.

From time to time the party encountered great vertical rifts several dozen metres high and tunnels that ended in blank walls with rough, perilous steps cut up or down to a different level where the path continued. Whole sheets of the world's crust seemed to have sunk or fractured in places, shearing off the old lava tunnels and leaving behind vast, lightless chasms deep in the earth. A few of these places were spanned by slender bridges of stone or circled by crude paths hacked from the hard semi-metallic rock of the walls.

Everywhere they turned, more square passages and twisting smooth-floored tunnels branched from their line of march. Finally, they reached a set of stairs that descended into a deep cavern with high ceilings and hanging stalactites dripping water. It was a large multi-levelled chamber with many connecting passages. The air was slightly less toxic here than the last time Zuko had visited, but that didn't mean the others could last long breathing in the noxious fumes. He would have to get them to the pool chamber as quickly as possible.

They travelled the path that clung to the shoulder of the subterranean canyon, winding northerly towards the hills. Up straight ahead was the naturally formed archway—the bridge to the pool—and a network of criss-crossing passages that rose above the gaping chasm below. Here opened the mouth of the volcano that rested deep beneath the ocean's floor.

Zuko could hear a distant roar, like the gurgling of a giant's belly, and the soft orange glow of the burning fires below illuminated his face. He glanced around to see the others wiping at their damp brows with their tunics. The heat was unbearable here, and the noxious fumes stung at their eyes.

He called for a brief halt and his company obeyed. After extinguishing the flame in his palm, Zuko instructed the others to cover their mouths with homemade fukumens to filter out the poisonous gases. They would have to light their torches on their own on the other side of the bridge, in order to avoid a possible explosion. Luckily the enormous chamber was just bright enough to allow them to see where they were going.

The prisoners glanced over the edge of the gorge with their mouths agape before glancing upwards in awe of the cavern itself. With its turrets and haunting spires, the room itself seemed to lean boldly out of a horrifying precipice over top an ever-burning subterranean furnace. One wrong step on the narrow bridge and they would plummet to their grisly deaths.

"Where do we go?" one of the colonist's asked. His face was too obscured by the darkness for Zuko to get a proper look, although he assumed it was Daichi.

"Across that bridge." Zuko pointed at the thin archway of stone. "And up."

The others glanced back down at the unplumbed abyss with natural apprehension, and Ryuu spoke quietly, "Are you sure that's our way?"

"I can feel water nearby," Katara said with a confident nod, and Pinga and Pana silently agreed. "Wherever we are, we're not far from it."

"That's all well and good," Ken cut in snidely. "However, I feel constrained to point out that we're all exhausted, especially Kala here, and—"

"Don't use me as a cushion for you own fears!" Kala snapped. Although it was clear that her face off with Yin, as well as protecting Zuko's mind, had considerably depleted her reserves of strength.

"Nonetheless," Ken continued through gritted teeth, "blundering through these dark passageways until Yin and Yang manage to trap and kill us is sheer stupidity. Why don't we lie low for a while in one of these tunnels and rest until we're ready to continue?"

"No, we have to keep going."

"I do not believe you understand what I'm saying," Ken growled with short, clipped words.

"Katara's right," Zuko interrupted curtly. "If we stay here, we'll die." The others looked up at him, unable to mask their shock. "None of you can survive the noxious fumes for long without suffocating. And even if you could, Yin and Yang _will_ find us."

"He's right," Kala agreed, leaning on Pana for support. "We've got to make a break for the pool and regroup with Chen and the others."

The party seemed hesitant to undertake this plan at first but nodded at Kala's words. If she and Chen trusted the Fire Lord's leadership, then so would they, however reluctantly.

"I need you all to cross the bridge and follow the passage marked in silver," Zuko instructed. He had got Ouji to mark the trail in advance, knowing that they would have to split up at some point. "Ouji is waiting for you at the second entrance. He, Nutak, and Chen will lead you all to the harbour."

Before Zuko could say any more, Ken was suddenly pivoting on his heel and pointing behind them. "We've got company!"

Zuko turned abruptly and, sure enough, he could see a flash of light bobbing down the twisted passageway, steadily growing brighter and advancing towards them. "I see them," he said, glancing back at the bridge. "Everyone go now! Hurry! I'll hold them off."

He muttered a foul string of curses and made his way swiftly along the wide part of the ledge, skirting the edge of the black abyss below and placing himself directly in front of the arch. The others quickly dispersed, making their way across the bridge and disappearing into the darkness of the tunnels, hoping to catch up with the earthbenders—all save Katara.

"How far are we from the southern wall of the cavern?"

"Two kilometres, I'd guess," Zuko answered, never taking his eyes off the passageway up ahead.

"It's going to take them a while to reach us," Katara observed after a moment's pause. "We should leave now and catch up with the others."

"No." He held his dao swords ready. "It ends here."

Suddenly the cavern began to quake as spires loosened and dropped from the ceiling above, plummeting into the chasm below. It all happened so quickly that he found himself turning over—he had fallen?—coming face to face with Katara. Her cheek was plastered against the rock and she was looking up at him with unmasked panic in her morning-blue eyes. It only faded when she sat up, coughing as the chamber filled with ash and sulphur.

"What—?" she began unsteadily, before abandoning the useless question. Anyone could see what had happened; an earthquake.

Covered in ash and with their hair sticking every which way, Zuko and Katara looked as though they had been tossed along the bridge—and they had. In the distance, anxious, indistinguishable shouts rose, echoing along the tunnels, and Zuko abruptly stood up.

"Do you trust me?" He turned back to extend a hand to Katara, and she met his gaze openly.

"With my life."

He lifted her to her feet and his hand left hers to touch her face, his half-gloved fingers brushing along her cheek. "Then go—leave—and don't look back."

Katara's face fell, and she shook her head. "No, Zuko. I won't leave you." She stepped closer into his touch, her hands reaching up to cup his face. Sparks seemed to leap from her fingertips, or it was purely his imagination. "We'll fight them together."

"Katara, please." He gathered her wrists in his hands and pushed her away. She staggered backwards, eyes wide with hurt and confusion. "Trust me on this."

It was a promise good only in his lifetime, a bandage for her wounded pride, a gift to take her mind off being afraid—for herself and for him. But her fears were already under control, on the outside at least. In that moment there was only concern on her face, so open it made his heart clench with gratitude. He would never know a better friend; never find someone who could understand him as completely as she did.

And as his friend, she respected his request. There was no pointing in arguing. Taking one final look, she slowly retreated to the other side of the bridge and was gone.

Movements to Zuko's left caught the corner of his eye. He twisted before he could think, picking up his swords and sweeping upwards. The blades weaved through shapes, and it was as though he was facing a mirrored reflection. When the swords came down, he sliced his mirrored form only to connect with air. Then there was nothing but mirrors surrounding him and, desperately, he stabbed at them. Silvered glass shattered, yet it seemed that his image shattered first.

He thought he heard a distant scream unlike his own voice inside his head, but just as quickly as it came it faded. Even as shards of mirror fell, he lashed out. Every mirror in the cavern exploded silently all at once, fountaining glass across the bridge. The dying scream inside his head echoed again and again, sending shivers down his spine. Ice cold daggers lanced through his brain and he screamed aloud this time.

The mirrors vanished and darkness returned. Laughter echoed throughout the chamber, and Zuko spun back to face the illusionists. Yin and Yang were standing at the foot of the bridge with their hands linked. He had been expecting something to happen, was anticipating it, in fact. What he hadn't been expecting was an explosion of mirth, and it made him both angry and wary. They were just playing with him.

"We underestimated you," Yang said, as the orange glow from the pit below illuminated his features.

"And Kala," Yin added. "How's she doing?"

Just then dark figures leapt from the shadows and stood in front of Zuko on the other side of the bridge. He turned to face three duplicates of himself; identical right down to the red puckered scar on their faces—except their scars were on the right. All three stared at him, features twisted with hatred and contempt and a strange sort of hunger. Only their eyes seemed empty, lifeless.

What dark powers did these Truth-Seers possess?

Before Zuko could take a breath, they rushed at him. He immediately sidestepped away, slicing his blades through the air as he shifted from stance to stance, form to form, trying to face only one enemy at a time. Had all three taken him on at once he would have surely died already, but each fought him alone, as though the others did not exist. Even so, he could not stop their blades entirely; in minutes blood ran down the sides of his face, arms, and chest.

Somewhere at the back of his mind Zuko knew this was an illusion, what he was fighting was not real. But the blood seemed real enough; the pain was real and excruciating. He felt his strength, both physically and mentally, ebbing. A part of him screamed to take Yin and Yang down first, to abandon these duplicates, but for the life of him he couldn't find them.

So Zuko continued fighting, his blade slipping past his opponent to slash across his face just below the eyes. Zuko couldn't help but wince; it was _his_ face he was slicing into. Its owner slid back just far enough to avoid the killing cut. Blood welled from the gash, veiling mouth and chin in dark crimson, but the ruined face did not change its blank expression; its empty eyes never flickered. It wanted Zuko dead the way a starving man wanted food.

_Can anything kill them?_ All three bled from the wounds Zuko had managed to inflict, but bleeding did not seem to slow them as he knew it was slowing him. They tried to avoid his sword but did not appear to realise that they had been hurt when he cut them. Still, they insisted on fighting, never slowing down.

Zuko, however, needed respite, a moment to catch his breath and gather himself. Without thinking, he leapt up onto the highest precipice and rolled across its width. He sensed rather than saw his duplicates' blades slashing at him, barely missing his flesh. Staggering, he landed on his feet and noticed the other three were across from him on the other side of the cavern, and just as high up.

He blinked. It had to be impossible. There was no precipice as high as this one on the other side of the bridge. And that was when Zuko realised he had been fighting himself—three mirrored reflections of himself.

At this sudden realisation, the duplicates shattered like glass. Zuko involuntarily shuddered as an icy cold pain stabbed at his brain. He dropped his swords and fell to his knees, clutching at his head with both hands. After a moment, the pain began to subside and Zuko blinked to dispel the spots that fluttered across his vision. He squeezed his head again as the pain, like the images of himself, still lazily drifted through his mind.

"Too bad Kala isn't around to protect you from yourself this time," Yin said with a taunting sneer.

The twins were standing exactly where he had last seen them, smirking smugly at his gullibility. Zuko bared his teeth at them before becoming acutely aware of small movements coming from the other side of the passage. His hands had gone numb, somehow growing cold in the oppressive heat that he swore was sucking the warmth from his very flesh. He picked up his swords and the fire from his inner chi rushed inside him at once, filling his head and heart as heat flowed back into his icy hands.

Suddenly the small figure from the other side of the bridge burst through the darkness like a bubble, and he felt something flow into him, some little portion of his lost strength returned. He jerked as tiny jolts of vitality pelted into him. When he raised his head, wondering why he was not dead, he saw Katara. Her hands were coated in ice and raised towards him. He felt his own sweat and blood cool on his skin, knitting the torn flesh on his chest and arms.

_The wounds were real?_

"Amazing," Yin said, unable to withhold the awe from her voice. "She can heal without even touching you."

Zuko ignored the twins and shakily stood to his feet, cutting a signal through the air with his swords. "Katara, get out of here—now!"

"Zuko?" Katara dropped her hands and looked up, meeting his eyes with blinking confusion. "I don't—I don't know how I got here."

"Go!" Damn it all! He didn't have time for this. She had to leave, now. But Katara remained rooted to the spot, her eyes wide with fear.

"I—I can't!"

"She can't leave," Yin said, taking a step onto the bridge with Yang at her side. "She can't stop. We called her here."

"Why?"

"A test."

Zuko had no time to think before Yin began humming a tune, a child's lullaby. Katara's expression changed at once, shifting from confusion to fear to something else altogether. In an instant of terrifying madness, Zuko was almost certain he could hear Katara's thoughts explode inside his mind.

_I can't stop them!_

Sucking in a deep breath, Zuko could only helplessly observe Katara's transformation. He tried to quell the residual fear in his breast as the second psionic assault took place in Katara's mind, shaking her to the core. Shock and pain washed over her face, and looked as though she was trying her best to resist the twins, but the struggle was futile. With his next breath he saw _her_, the Katara from the interrogation cell: emotionless, merciless, and cunning.

Zuko backed away, thinking furiously as he gripped his dao swords tightly in his hands. His palms were balmy with sweat, and he glanced over at his friend hidden beneath the cold veneer of an emotionless mask. Zuko held no delusions; if he fought Katara, she would kill him. He knew this as surely as he was breathing, as surely as his heart beat loudly in his chest. But if he could get to the source, if he could disable Yin or Yang—specifically Yin—then their hold on Katara would weaken and she could fight their control. But in order to get to the twins he would have to get through Katara first.

Hoping he was not a fool, Zuko sheathed his swords and dropped down onto the bridge. He made a break to run past Katara, but before he could even move after landing a cold numbness stole over his body; he was rooted to the ground. That same coldness crept along his limbs and seeped into his bones until he could barely feel a thing. She was working his blood, controlling him from the inside out.

Stubbornly, he tried to fight her. But the harder he struggled, the weaker he became. On instinct, he turned inwards and reached deep inside himself, locating his inner chi, the primal fire that laced his heart. He pulled on the source until it consumed his body with a stomach-turning heat that raged in his blood.

His fingers began to twitch and something close to panic flickered across Katara's features before vanishing just as quickly. Her hold on him tightened and she began to play him like a marionette, bringing him up to the tips of his toes. Pain lanced throughout his entire body; however, the heat—the fire—did not leave him.

Zuko wondered if he had made a fatal mistake, if his time was up. But the power inside him continued to burn, rebelling against Katara's control. It swelled in every crevice of his being, boiling the blood in his veins until he felt like spewing up every meal he had ever eaten. He felt on fire but alive, more alive than he had ever felt in his life—and that was when Katara's hold on him began to waver.

"Impossible," Yin and Yang whispered in unison, observing the macabre struggle for dominance with blind wide-eyed disbelief.

Sweat tracked down Zuko's face. With extreme effort he managed to place one foot in front of the other. The strain on Katara's face was as evident as Zuko's. He was somehow fighting the bloodbending, even as his own fire was consuming him from the inside out.

The fire was saving him, but it was also burning him alive. At the rate he was consuming his own energy to fight off Katara, he would burn himself out before he could throw off her control. But still he continued to draw on the primal source. He felt so painfully alive that everything up until this point in his life seemed like nothing but a shadow. He could smell the sulphur in the air; feel every gash in his flesh, every cut, every nick, every pain. It was unbearable, but he held on.

"Zuko—" Katara's voice wavered. She was fighting against the twins' control, but it was too much. And though he was resisting her, it was not enough. It would never be enough. She would kill him and Yin and Yang would win.

With what little strength he could muster, Zuko summoned a fire ball in his palm. He threw it up at the highest passage, letting it explode like fireworks.

"NUTAK! NOW!" Zuko's words echoed loudly in the chamber like a signal, and the twins blinked at him as if they did not understand his words.

Seconds later, Zuko could hear the roar of the water and, by the look on Katara's face, so could she.

The twins flinched, letting go of one another to turn towards the sound, and their hold on Katara momentarily broke. With the distraction, Zuko freed himself and bounded over to where Katara stood. He grabbed her by waist and leapt up onto rocky shelf, throwing them both beneath a small alcove out of the water's path.

He swayed on his feet as he landed, holding Katara close as he waited for the dam to burst, or not. He was a pair of golden eyes inflamed by dry air and heat; he was a brain tired and fluttering but forced into a channel of watchfulness. He was a voice, shouting for her to hold on and prepare for the blast of water that suddenly roared and spewed out from the passage above.

The twins barely made it back across the bridge before they were knocked off their feet, the pressure toppling them forward. It seemed as though an entire ocean was raining down on them, spilling into the chasm below. With what Zuko assumed was pure instinct, Katara had sheltered them from above, causing the water to curve over their heads. The twins were not so fortunate and were enveloped in water, washed aside to the other side of the chamber.

Once the water ceased its pouring and settled down into the abyss, Chen, Po, and Bo rounded the precarious bend from across the bridge. In front of them floated two long, thin hulls of metal; each levitating above the ground in order to be easily moved as the benders directed. Without wasting any time, the earthbenders bound the twins like they had on the surface. But this time Zuko intended to bring them with him; this time Yin and Yang would be _his_ prisoners.

Letting go of Katara, Zuko jumped back down onto the bridge and held out his hands, waiting for her to leap into his arms. He nimbly caught her by the waist and set her down before turning towards the twins, letting his eyes linger over their rigid and bound forms. Instinctively, he pulled Katara behind him and made his way forward.

There was no resistance, no mental shield blocking him, no psionic daggers probing his mind. They were contained, immobile, and impotent. Defeated—at least for now.

"Guess you didn't see that coming, did you?" Zuko said, taking what felt like his first breath in hours.

Yin and Yang sat silently on the wet cavern floor. Their white eyes were dulled with power yet narrowed with murderous intent. If looks could kill . . .

Bo and Chen took this opportunity to cinch their restraints, causing the twins to gasp and pass out. It was easier to carry them this way, with them unconscious and their powers muted. Easier and somewhat safer, although Zuko could never be too sure.

Nodding to the earthbenders, Zuko allowed them to pass the bridge first with their prisoners while he stayed behind with Katara.

"None of this makes any sense," she said, wringing out her clothes and hair with a flick of her wrist. "Why take them now when you couldn't outside?"

"Because the metal used outside was impure. It was mostly rock and it wasn't strong enough to contain them."

In fact, Zuko didn't think what little metal found in the underground passageways would be strong enough to hold them, either. But he had given the earthbenders the distraction they needed in order to gather the proper materials.

"Metal?"

"It's what suppresses their powers."

Katara's eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. "How did you figure that out?"

"Talking to Ouji, and you."

"Me?"

Zuko nodded and brought a hand to the back of his neck, pulling it away bloodied. "When the Fifth Column originally kidnapped you, they had several demands which, until recently, I thought were pure bunk: the whereabouts of Aang, me, and the metalbender who built the bunkers."

"Toph." Katara ran a shaky hand over her face. "They wanted Toph."

"Well, they certainly didn't want her for the hell of it." He wiped his bloody palm along the length of his thigh and grimaced. "Same with Aang, although I'm still not sure what they want with him, unless they know about the airbenders.

"Anyway, it struck me as odd that they wanted Toph. What could they want with an earthbender or, in this case, a metalbender? Then Ouji told me about his encounter with the twins in Kenzo's office—how he had been hanging outside the window when they entered and that Yin seemed to sense his presence but gave up, almost as if something was blocking her mental vision."

"What was it?"

"The shutters on the windows in Kenzo's office are made of metal."

"Oh." Katara swallowed hard, and then pointed at herself. "But how did I help you figure it out?"

"The time the twins were able to get me to turn on you, it was . . ." He paused, trying to shake the visceral memory from his head. "I wasn't wearing my mask or carrying any of my weapons."

"I see." Katara took in a deep breath and nodded. "So, where did the earthbenders get the metal to bind the twins?"

"My mother's tombstone."

It had been Ursa's headstone, mixed with marble and metal, that Zuko had suggested the earthbenders could use against the twins. The steel doors of the mess hall would have been ideal, but the metal was too pure to manipulate. It would take an actual metalbender to bend them.

His entire plan had hinged on the hope that these master earthbenders could execute a type of bending that one of his closest friends, Toph Beifong, had only recently invented fourteen years ago. Fortunately, Chen was not unfamiliar with the concept, considering he had spent a great deal of his earlier incarceration in a metal prison cell. With the general on board, Zuko had given Po and Bo a few of his bo-shurikens to practise on and a copy of the map where they could find his mother's tombstone (with Ouji's help).

"Zuko?"

His thoughts were put on pause as he turned to face Katara. There was something in her voice and stance that said she expected an attack—or at the very least she was ready to counter it. But that wasn't what stopped Zuko in his tracks. It was a feeling, the stomach-wrenching taint in his stomach signalling that something was wrong.

Suddenly there was a boiling heat erupting from below, a gurgle, and the bowers around them began to violently shake. Stone cracked beneath their feet.

It was another earthquake, or the volcano was finally erupting.

The ceiling broke apart above their heads. The stalactites that once dripped with warm water now steamed and fell to the caked stone floor. The entire cavern rumbled and shook like the bowels of a demon. Everything was cracking apart, opening like a yawning maw ready to swallow them whole into the venting shaft of the chasm below.

Reacting on instinct, Zuko quickly pulled Katara with him as they leapt across the bridge. A cascade of rocks and debris fell down around them, crashing into his back and neck as he tried to shield Katara from the brunt of the avalanche. But there was no way he could stop the barrage, and he knew the earthbenders were still too far away to reach them in time. So Zuko took Katara in his arms and threw her across the bridge as the floor crumbled beneath him.

His hands reached out for solid structure, but all they found was air.

He was falling.

His ribs connected painfully with the wall, and with a grunt he fingers blindly sought purchase on the burning rock. Nimble fingers found narrow crevices and, with a painful cry, he dug in deep. Fingernails peeled all the way back to the flesh.

"ZUKO!"

Katara was on her belly, leaning over the edge of what was left of the bridge. Thick black smoke plumbed from the abyss as the chamber itself had gone silent. The tremors had tapered off, but Zuko's hold on the wall was precarious as the foundation was already beginning to break off.

Sweat rolled down his face as he strained against the rock, trying his best to hold on and hoist himself up. But the stone wall and his hold on it were fragile. His body was weak and his fingers were already slippery with blood.

"Hold on!"

Coughing the vapourish ash from her lungs, Katara slithered down the ledge as far as she could, until her knees were firmly planted into the stone. Her right hand was outstretched, reaching for his, but she was not close enough to grab onto his wrist. Zuko would have to use his footing and propel himself upwards by letting go of the wall in order to try to catch her hand. But there was no way she could sustain his weight and her own, not with the bridge as fragile as it was.

"Katara, I need you to go."

"No!"

"Katara—"

"I said NO!" Angry tears pooled at the corner of her eyes. "Just shut up and let me think!"

But there was nothing she could do. His time was already up. He would fall, and if she didn't get off that ledge soon then she'd fall with him. Zuko's choice was already made.

"You have to lead them out of here." A piece of the wall cracked apart and his body shuddered with it. "You have to bring them home."

"Not without you!" Tears tracked down her dirt-stained cheeks and she stretched out her arm with all her might. "Just reach for my hand, Zuko. Reach!" The tips of her fingers grazed his, and she tried her best to give him a hopeful smile. "I'm going to save you."

"You already have."

He returned her smile, feeling his strength leave him. His fingers began to slip, and Katara's eyes widened in angry shock.

"Don't let go! Don't you _dare_ let go!" Her knees scraped bloody along the ledge as her fingers continued to dance near his.

"I'm sorry."

"NO! I ORDER you not to let go! I ORDER YOU! I ORDER YOU!" Her bottom lip quivered, and tears dripped down onto his face. "Please, Zuko, _please_. Don't leave me."

But it was too late.

The rock gave way and Zuko felt himself falling backwards, his back splayed towards the heat of the abyss below.

Katara was screaming his name, lunging forward to try to catch him as the bridge gave out beneath her. Her eyes never left his, even as she fell with him. Zuko felt his heart shatter in its ribcage, knowing that she was going to die with him; that she was going to die because of his incompetence—because he couldn't save her, because he couldn't force himself to let go in time.

The air exploded from his lungs upon impact, and a wave of confusion swept over him. The drop was shorter than he had expected, and he never anticipated his back to connect with this something solid. Wind whistled in his ears, hot and stifling, but he was alive.

Suddenly it seemed as though he was soaring, and Katara landed on top of him with a grunt. Her chin collided painfully with his shoulder and her teeth clinked in her mouth. Moaning, he tried to say her name but his voice was muffled by the weight of her thin shoulder.

How were they still alive?

Whatever he had landed on was now turning, shifting and angling itself at a forty-five degree angle like a slide. They were on a floating piece of rock? He and Katara slid down the flattened stone without protest and tumbled onto another stone path that emptied out into a narrow passageway lined with silver luminescent arrows along the walls.

"What the hell were you two doing?" Chen barked. The old earthbender was looming over top of them with his arms folded over his barrelled chest.

Katara and Zuko, who were still lying in a crumpled heap on the dirt floor, couldn't help but laugh with relief. They had almost plummeted to their deaths and here Chen was lecturing them like two wayward children who had sneaked out of their parents' home to get into mischief. Still, neither one could complain. He had just saved their lives.

"Chen, I could kiss you right now," Zuko muttered with dizzying relief; his face was still planted in the dirt. He slowly pushed himself up onto his forearms, feeling an aching soreness and gratitude all at once. But Chen just grunted.

"Can't say the same about you, kid." He dusted off his hands and offered to help Katara to her feet, but she declined and rose onto her hands and knees with a wobble.

Zuko rose to his knees, planting his palms on his thighs, and gave Chen an appreciative nod of thanks. The old man returned the curt nod and gave the two youngsters, as he would call them, a curious once-over, noting that neither had yet to stand or vacate the area. With a slight roll of his eyes, the earthbender grimaced and motioned to the passageway.

"Well, I'm gonna head back and join the others. They're waiting. You two catch up when you can—and try not to fall anywhere or stick around for more earthquakes."

Without hesitating or bothering to ask if they were okay, Chen vanished through the paint-lit passageway to join the others. Once the old general was gone, Zuko stumbled to his feet. Blood was slowly began to recirculate in his fingers and he winced at the sight of their dirty and mangled form. He brought his bloodied and half bent fingernails to his mouth and clamped down with his teeth, ripping the nails off with a painful hiss.

Katara was still on her knees, head down as she coughed and tried to catch her breath. One hand was on the ground, supporting herself, and she glanced up. A soft smile of relief washed over her face at the sight of him and Zuko felt it too—relief and gratitude. Though his fingers were bloody and trembling, he held a hand out to her and she took it, shakily rising to her feet.

"Thanks for staying with me," he said with a pant, and Katara's smile widened.

"Any time."

Suddenly the earth shook once more, as if to remind them that they were still in danger. The corners of Zuko's mouth tightened into a grimace and his grip on Katara's hand as he pulled her along with him.

"Time to go!"


	18. Rally

SHE RAN DOWN the hall, her bare feet whispering along the floor. Her heart rattled against its cage; the only sound save her laboured breathing. Quick gulping gasps of air were inhaled as she ran with all her might, until her lungs burned and her muscles seized from the strain, but still she kept going.

Her feet nimbly skimmed across the stone, trying to avoid the shards of reflective glass that littered the empty hallway. Everywhere she turned she saw broken mirrors, completely shattered; twinkling shards of glass that were barely noticeable in the dying torchlight. And now she was lost in the darkness; not knowing which way to turn or where to go.

Where _was_ she trying to go? Was she trying to escape the walls of this prison or the prison of her mind? Maybe it was both. Nothing quite seemed real to her anymore. She wasn't sure if anything ever did.

Out of her peripheral vision she caught sight of an image rising within a dreamlike swirl of colour, and in the distance soft voices echoed. Ethereal and foreboding, she turned away from the haunted sounds and from the light, plunging herself back into abyss. The darkness was her friend; it was safer here. She had nothing to fear, for she was strong and cunning. She would survive this. She would make her way to her secret allies and everything would be all right.

Everything would be all right.

She took barely six more steps when she heard another sound. This sound was not ethereal. It sounded more like stealthy footsteps brushing stone and advancing, and it was coming from behind her.

"Azula," the voice whispered in her ear, and the princess stopped dead in her tracks. Her heart leapt into her throat. It was a man's voice; deep, cold, penetrating, and dangerous—and very, very near.

"Who's there?"

She whirled around, her white hospital tunic swishing against her thighs, and saw no one. The halls were empty; the aisles were abandoned. No healers, no guards, no patients. Nothing. No one.

"It is time."

A dark figure lunged out from the shadows and caught Azula by her wrist. A small gasp escaped her throat and she managed to slip free, falling from the sheer force of his attack. She heard something tear and her hip made painful contact with the stone. She cried out as his hands attacked her body, bruising and punishing. She kicked at him despite the pain in her hip and managed to claw away, dragging herself on hands and knees.

She could not see the stranger's face but she caught a glimpse of herself in a shattered mirror; her hair was tangled across her forehead and the top half of her tunic had completely ripped off, exposing her bare breasts to the cool air. Then she felt him catch hold of her ankle and drag her back, her skin scraping painfully across the stone.

With a bubbling fury, Azula reached deep inside herself and found the chi long-ago locked within. Bursting open the source with abandon, she screamed, letting lose a ball of blue fire at his face only to have it connect with air.

He was gone.

Soft, sibilant laughter began to ripple throughout the hallway, not male but female. Familiar and terrifyingly real, yet not.

The princess painfully jumped to her feet, one hand covering her naked breasts, and pivoted. Eyes shut tight, she refused to face this new foe because she knew, she knew . . .

"Azula," the feminine voice whispered, taunting, and Azula's eyes shot wide open. Hues of amber met amber. An unhinged smirk met the faint trace of an O formed on chapped lips.

It was her.

She was looking at herself.

"It's time to go home."

**.**

**.**

**.**

SHIN STRODE DOWN the hallways of the royal palace with purpose. The left side of his otherwise handsome face was creased with an ugly red scar, a scar doctored to make him look like Fire Lord Zuko himself. The make-up was annoying to put on every day, but he had become used to it. He could even admire how the unseemly blemish actually made his more aesthetically pleasing features stand out. Though bold, it was striking, which made him striking. But at this moment Shin was not concerned about his looks.

The Fifth Column had succeeded in its royal coup, for the most part. They had seized the palace and taken Zuko's loyal soldiers and cabinet ministers into custody. Rumours had already begun to spread throughout the capital. The beginnings of war were burning the nation from the inside out, starting with the royal palace.

Some believed it was Fire Lord Zuko himself who had started it; others said it was the work of an organisation few had heard of before: the Fifth Column. Some claimed the order was the true aggressor while others believed it to be part an ancient army of the Fire Nation come back to return the country to its former glory. Whatever the case, the nation was ripe with civil strife, ready to be overthrown. Without Fire Lord Zuko the country was divided, leaderless, but that was where Shin came in.

Now that Zuko's loyal ministers were locked away Shin could finally _be_ the Fire Lord instead of playing the part. No longer would he have his authority superseded by the likes of General Iroh or Fire Lady Mai.

Mai.

He had failed to capture her during the coup. Not only that, she had managed to take out a dozen of his best soldiers. He had sent scouts to General Iroh's villa in Phanom Rung, as well as several hot spots throughout the Earth Kingdom, including Kyoshi Island and Ba Sing Se, but there was no word on the Fire Lady's whereabouts, or the general's. It was as if they disappeared off the face of the earth.

Shin had suspected that Iroh had gone in search of his nephew and the master waterbender, Katara, but he had no idea where Mai was. Most likely the Fire Lady had regrouped with the Kyoshi Warriors, but she would be a fool indeed to think that her paltry forces could rise against the Fifth Column. She would strike at him soon but she would fail, and he would show her mercy by making her his Fire Lady in every legal sense of the word.

Thoughts of Mai dispersed the moment he stepped out onto a colonnaded terrace and spotted the man he had been sent here to meet, a high admiral of the order. The man in question was tall and broad-shouldered, wearing red-plum robes with golden embroidery around the cuffs, bottom hem, and hood. With his back to Shin, the admiral appeared to be glancing northwards at the sea. His large, veined hands rested lightly on the smooth stone balustrade, drumming his fingers somewhat impatiently as a slight breeze blew off the ocean below, carrying more than a hint of salt in its refreshing coolness.

Taking a casual inventory, Shin spotted no less than six Fifth Columnists standing at both ends of the colonnade. Their backs were as stiff as statues with their golden spears held in hand and ceremonial scabbards worn on their hips. They did not need such weapons, being master firebenders. The ceremonial weapons were symbols of prestige and triumph. The guards themselves were ornamental, a show of the admiral's rank and significance. The true danger lay in the strength of the man himself.

"Admiral." Shin lowered his head and spread his hands, offering the proper obeisance. "You wished to speak with me?"

The admiral turned, his visible left eye narrowing on the false Fire Lord. Where his right eye would have been was a black-lacquered eyepatch; with the tail end of a scar peeking out from underneath. Thought the hood hid much of his face, brown hair peppered with grey along his long mutton chops fanned out in thick tufts, giving him a seasoned yet dark and dangerous look.

"I wished to see you an hour ago."

"My apologies, Admiral. I was attending to the public and my newly appointed cabinet." Of course the admiral knew this; he had been behind the selection of their newest ministers. "I have to keep up appearances, even now—especially now, as you yourself have observed."

"Watch your insolent tongue with me, boy."

Shin stiffened, in both fear and anger. No one talked to him like that, not since he began playing the part of the Fire Lord two years ago. But this man standing before him was of much higher rank within the order than himself, and one of the few serving directly underneath the shoguns themselves. Regrettably, this one-eyed admiral was of much higher importance than Shin himself, and it would be wise for him to not forget this.

"Yes, Admiral." Shin bowed lowly to demonstrate his humility. "I apologise. I did not mean to speak out of turn."

"See that you refrain from doing so again in the future."

The admiral fell silent, perhaps to gather his thoughts or perhaps simply in an effort to rattle his subordinate's nerves. Such petty, pointless attempts at intimidation were virtually a reflex with him.

"I heard you sent scouts to Phanom Rung looking for Fire Lady Mai." He lowered his hood, as if to allow for his statement to be much graver than it was.

The admiral's face was severe-looking, oval in shape with a wide forehead and pointed chin. His dark grey-brown hair was pulled into a topknot, revealing a slight receding hairline. Though he appeared to be in his late fifties or early sixties, he was remarkably built like a sturdy young man. Yet age had touched his face, marking it with wrinkles and scars.

"I'd like for you to desist in your search."

Shin's brow furrowed in confusion. "Sir?"

"You heard me."

"I—of course. I will call back the scouts." Shin cleared his throat and then took in a deep breath before leaning forward. "If I may ask, sir, what about General Iroh and the Avatar?"

"They are none of your concern," the admiral said gruffly, folding his hands up his sleeves. "I have my own score to settle with the general. Everything else will be handled by the shoguns personally."

Shin nodded. That was all he needed to know. These were orders coming directly from the heads of the Fifth Column. He would not press any further.

"Oh; and, Shin?"

"Yes, Admiral?"

"I'd like for you to make a trip to The Abbey to visit your 'sister' Azula." The corners of his mouth lifted into a smirk. "It is her birthday soon and, as you said, you must keep up appearances."

"Of course, Admiral Zhao." Shin inclined his head in obedience, though was somewhat nonplussed by the request. "I will start preparing for the trip immediately."

"Good."

Zhao smiled, the apple of his right cheek lifting up his eyepatch to reveal the tip of an angry red scar hidden underneath. Somehow, in defiance of any reasonable expectation, the smile only made the admiral's face that much more threatening, not less.

**.**

**.**

**.**

WRAPPED IN A plain, dark shawl, Mai drew the cowl up around her face as a few Fire Nation soldiers brushed past her. Once they were out of sight she hefted her satchel over her shoulder and continued tramping her way south across the village of Jang Hui with her head bowed low.

The experience was strange for Mai, unique in her own personal experience. She was on foot, not mounted on a mongoose dragon or a komodo rhino or being carried on a litter. She was alone, not being accompanied by a column of guards or servants or her own personal entourage, and most strangely of all, no one was paying her any real attention.

It was liberating.

Oh, villagers still scurried out of her path and men offered her a cursory show of respect, but no one was in fear or in awe of her. Indeed, she herself had to offer slight obeisance to any noble women she encountered along the way, lest the soldiers chastise her for her insolence. Fortunately Jang Hui was an isolated and small enough fishing village for there to be little to no nobles around. However, since Katara had cleansed the waters and made a show as the Painted Lady some odd fourteen years ago, it had elevated the sleepy village to somewhat of a tourist attraction. Thankfully it was the off-season and the small company of soldiers she had met here and there were simply on leave and not stationed there.

Nonetheless, the whole experience was galling, unsettling, and somehow tempting to Mai. In her most private thoughts she had imaged herself simply running away from her royal lifestyle and now she had that—through no choice of her own. But this was not the ideal scenario and there was still work to be done. She couldn't abandon her responsibilities so easily.

Ty Lee and Suki were waiting for her in a camp situated just outside of the village. It was a quiet, non-descript place with water and over-hanging foliage where they could easily hide. Reports had already flown in earlier that morning from all over the Earth Kingdom. The Kyoshi Warriors were scheduled to rendezvous with them shortly, guiding them out of the Fire Nation under the guise of a merchant ship.

From there they would travel to the forest just outside Senlin Village where they would meet up with the others, including Haru and his band of earthbenders, The Duke, Tao and his mechanically inclined friends, and Toph's metalbending students. They had yet to hear from the Water Tribe factions, but that was the least of Mai's concerns right now as she threw her supplies into the small rowboat and headed back to the crescent valley where Ty Lee and Suki were waiting for her. The first thing they needed to do was get out of the Fire Nation without drawing attention to themselves.

When she finally made her way upstream to their encampment near the waterfall, Mai almost chucked her oars overboard and jumped out of the boat. Well, she would have if she were less a person and not the stone-cold emotionless mask-wearing woman that she was. She had to keep up pretences after all. But what had the hackles standing on the back of Mai's neck was when she arrived at the camp she found no tents erected, no cooking pots set out to make a meal, and the campfire itself was little more than a lonely flame begging to be fed timbre. Instead, Suki and Ty Lee were pacing on the beach like they were trying to enact some badly rehearsed dance or call upon the water gods for some rain.

So much for her leaving these two in charge of fire and shelter.

Mooring her boat, Mai threw the oars inside and picked up the sack filled with food and supplies. Warily, she approached the two Kyoshi Warriors who had yet to cease their awkward dancing ritual upon Mai's arrival. In fact, they didn't seem to notice her presence at all.

"What's going on?" Mai asked in a bored fashion, though her curiosity was quickly getting the best of her. What, in the name of the spirits, were these two doing?

"Oh, Mai!" Ty Lee turned her head, still holding a clearly agitated Suki's hand. "Suki's gone into labour."

"What? When?"

"Just after you left."

Mai was completely flummoxed. How dare Suki inconvenience them by having that child now? "But the other warriors should be here by nightfall." She peered down at Suki's painfully distended stomach and grimaced. "Can't you just hold it in?"

"Hold it in?" Ty Lee repeated with a bemused laugh. "Mai, you can't stop a birthing. When the baby decides to come, it's coming."

"But we don't have a healer or a midwife."

Ty Lee waved her hand dismissively. "I've delivered dozens of babies."

"Cow-pigs don't count, Ty Lee."

"Do _not_ compare my unborn child to a cow-pig," Suki growled, and Ty Lee immediately patted her hand, assuring her that it was not Mai's intent to insult Suki or her unborn baby.

"But how are you going to deliver _it_ in the middle of a clearing?" Mai motioned blandly to their surroundings. Was she going to simply squat over a hole and push?

"I've already got everything set up," Ty Lee said excitedly, which did not assure Mai much and she could only imagine Suki's trepidation. "She's gonna have a water birth!"

"A water birth?"

Katara had once told Suki not long after her first pregnancy that a water birth was one of the easiest births to give, especially if it wasn't the mother's first delivery and there was no midwife or healer nearby. Stuck in the middle of nowhere facing the elements dead on, a water birth _seemed_ like the most sanitary solution.

"Don't worry," Suki assured Mai, before groaning in pain. "My first baby was slow, but my body has done this before. It knows what to do. It won't take long."

Mai was sceptical of Suki's self-proclaimed endorsement, but then the Fire Lady had never given birth before, so there could be truth to her words. So she silently watched as Suki engaged in several bizarre exercises in order to help dilate her cervix, including a few squat thrusts that made the taller woman slightly green around the gills.

After an hour the contractions started coming in harder and faster, accompanied with indescribable pain, or at least that's what Mai assumed all the screaming was for. However, Suki was only just beginning to dilate. An hour later the expecting mother was screeching profanities that would make a sailor blush with shame, all the while threatening bodily harm to the absentee father.

"They've got to have found Aang by now," Ty Lee assured Suki. "I'm sure Sokka's safe and sound."

"I don't care if he's bleeding in a ditch somewhere!" Suki roared. "He should be here with me!"

"Well, maybe if you didn't take off half-way across the world on your own while eight and a half months pregnant—"

Suki cut Mai off with an evil glare. "Are you saying you didn't appreciate my help back at the palace?"

Mai folded her arms beneath her breasts. She would not be cowed by anyone, no matter who that person was or how deranged he or she might have looked in that moment—even if Suki did look like she was about to rip Mai's neck clean off her shoulders.

"I had it handled."

"Handled?" Suki was working herself up to rant-mode when she suddenly doubled over, letting loose an unholy screech of pain. "Merciful spirits! She's coming!"

"_She_?" Mai let her arms fall limply to her sides. "How do you know it's a girl?"

"She, he, it—whatever," Suki growled in a voice that didn't even sound human. "This baby is coming _now_!"

Without any protest, both Mai and Ty Lee took Suki by either hand and led her into the water. Neither Ty Lee nor Suki had delivered a birth this way, but they seemed confident enough to wing it, which only partially mollified Mai. Being the only one not giving birth or directly assisting in delivering the baby, one would have suspected Mai to be the least apprehensive. One would have been wrong. It wasn't blood that unnerved the Fire Lady—far from it—but the thought of a tiny human slithering its way out of another did not sit well with Mai. It was a rather repugnant notion, if you asked her. Luckily no one did.

Mai begrudgingly got into the water with the two women, helping Suki down into a sitting position. Ty Lee was strong but small and light; Mai couldn't trust that Suki, in a fit of pain, wouldn't push the tiny Ty Lee under the water out of spite. So while Ty Lee crouched on her haunches in the water in front of Suki, as though waiting for the baby to pop out like bread from the oven, Mai held Suki's hand and kept her eyes anywhere but down.

After a minute and a few bone-crushing hand squeezes later, Ty Lee instructed Suki to push and the warrior did just that with a banshee of a scream. In the midst of the straining and the huffing and the puffing, Suki clawed at Mai's arm so tightly she was sure the warrior was cutting off circulation.

"Push, Suki! Push! You're almost there!"

Suki gritted her teeth and began pushing like a champ with short bursts of breath, willing this baby to be born. Her nails dug into Mai's flesh, drawing blood, and the Fire Lady winced. By this point Suki was screaming and crying and cursing (mainly Sokka's name), and Mai vaguely remembered her mother once telling her that when a woman gave birth all modesty went out the window. Looking down at Suki, Mai realised this was true. Suki didn't care what anyone was thinking about her right now; all she cared about was delivering this baby.

And suddenly the warrior went limp and fell back, and Mai almost went down with her. Digging in, Mai managed to catch Suki under her arms and lift her back up into a sitting a position so that she didn't drown herself, or Mai. She could hear splashing and Ty Lee chattering excitedly and suddenly there was this loud, high-pitched wailing noise, and it wasn't coming from Suki.

A screaming pink baby writhed in Ty Lee's arms, and Mai stared at it in wonder. The makeshift midwife was all smiles as she held up the newborn, and Suki was cry-laughing with her. Ty Lee then placed the naked baby in Suki's waiting arms before jumping out of the water to fetch some blankets.

"Mai, can you help me?" Suki sniffed lightly as she gazed down lovingly at her newborn.

Mai gently lifted Suki up by the arms, mindful of the baby, and set the warrior down on a blanket that was already laid out on the beach. Ty Lee came over at that moment, draping a blanket across Suki's legs before gesturing for the baby, who Suki begrudgingly handed over. Ty Lee then carefully went about cleaning and swaddling the baby, mindful of the umbilical cord, and placed the newborn back in Suki's arms.

"You need to heat the knife," Suki said wearily, motioning to the umbilical cord. Exhaustion was quickly overtaking the warrior.

Mai stood to her feet and took out one of her flat blades before heading over to the fire. As she heated the blade over the dying flames, she glanced over at Suki. The mother looked exhausted but so happy with the warm, messy bundle cradled in her arms.

Was it a boy or a girl? Mai hadn't checked.

The sun was slowly beginning to set in the west, painting the blue sky with hues of oranges and pinks. The Kyoshi Warriors would be arriving shortly, but there was no way they could move now, not with a newborn. Suki needed her rest and to replenish her fluids. They'd have to wait at least a day before setting out and travelling by boat.

While Mai was hopeful that Shin hadn't figured out to look for her this far south yet, she had less confidence in the current state of her nation. Civil war was already brewing; she had heard the whispers of rebellion in the village. War was coming. What their nation needed was leadership; it needed the _real_ Fire Lord. But Mai could not assist in the quest to locate her husband. She needed to rally her own forces, to strike back at Shin with a semblance of power while she still had the time and the opening.

Everything else depended on the Avatar.

**.**

**.**

**.**

AANG HAD NO idea where he was. Bodies littered a wide hallway; all were dead. Cackling laughter echoed on the rim of his awareness, and he could feel the energy rolling off and towards him in waves, leaving the air around him crackling and whirling, whining like a drill on bone.

He had no clue what to do, where to even start. Confused, he could only stand there quivering with power and with fear, a fear he had never experienced before. It was ancient and foreboding, familiar yet alien, and it wanted blood.

A dozen paces away stood a child staring at him with wide, accusing eyes. She was neatly dressed, every fold of red silk held perfectly in place, but wisps of her dark hair had come undone from the bun, disarrayed. The long dark tendrils bruised and slashed at her face like whip marks. She looked tired and haunted—old beyond her years.

"What have I done?"

He wasn't sure who had whispered the words, but he instantly felt guilty and pulled his gaze away. When it fell back on the child she was no longer standing. Her body lay sprawled on her back, eyes wide and fixed lifelessly on the ceiling. Blood blackened the bosom of her dress and rolled from her tear ducts in endless bloody trails.

Aang immediately rushed over and bent down, brushing stray strands of hair from her face. She was only a child, so young. He was too late. Why hadn't he saved her sooner?

"You can't help her," said a raspy voice. "You never could." It was a woman's voice, familiar yet he could not place it or her. Face obscured, the mysterious woman remained hidden in the shadows, in the very darkness that shrouded them.

But Aang would not listen; he couldn't. Instead, he channelled all of his energy and directed great flows of it into the child's body—searching, trying, fumbling. After a moment the little girl lurched to her feet, arms and legs unnaturally rigid and jerky.

"You cannot do this!" the shadowed woman hissed, but Aang ignored her.

"Breathe!" he shouted. She had to breathe. The girl's chest began to rise and fall, and his hands moved over her breast. "Heart!" It had to beat. Blood already thick and dark oozed from the wound in her chest. "Live!" Her eyes stared at him, filmed over. Lifeless. Tears trickled unheeded down his cheeks, and he turned towards the woman of the shadows. "She has to live! Heal her, please! I don't—I don't know how. Heal her!"

"Death cannot be healed, Avatar."

Aang turned back to the girl and stared into her dead eyes, and he knew. He knew the shadowed woman was right yet it all felt wrong, somehow. He slowly withdrew the flows of energy and the body fell stiffly to the ground.

The body.

Dead.

He threw his head back and screamed.

**.**

THUNDER ROARED IN Aang's ears and he jolted awake. Grey eyes snapped open, and he took in great gasping gulps of air. Relief flooded in his veins.

It had all been a dream.

The thunder rolled across the sky in a continuous peal, though the sky held no clouds, only the burning sun that was still climbing high in the horizon. Aang held the reins a little more tightly than normal and tried to slow his heart-rate. The dream had shaken him to the core. He could still feel the power crackling in the air and vibrating in his fingertips. He could feel the child's limp body in his hand; hear the shadowed woman's words in his ear.

_Death cannot be healed, Avatar._

Whose death, exactly? Had someone died? Was someone about to die? Was this an omen or was it all pure imagination brought on by the stress of trying to find Katara?

They had flown throughout the night, stopping only when the messenger hawk needed rest. The Fifth Column scout had been particularly useless in their quest thus far, not that anyone had expected results. More than once Toph had threatened to throw the prisoner overboard, but Aang had objected. Iroh had managed to get what little information he could from the scout, but the reality was that they were relying on Zuko's messenger hawk to track and locate their friends. Thus all Aang could do right now was follow the hawk; sit on the pommel of Appa's saddle and wait, wait for some sign of civilisation.

Thunder swelled but there was no lightning, and Aang took in a deep breath. His nerves were still raw, and it was hard not to constantly look over his shoulder at the others. Toph and Sokka were sleeping while Iroh watched over their prisoner. Hahn, who had the best eyesight out of the seven of them, including Appa, sat near Aang, peering over the side of the saddle to take in the view of the dark blue waters below.

The thunder crested, and Hahn audibly exhaled in sync.

"You okay?" He nudged up near the pommel. "You need a rest?"

Aang shook his head. "I'm fine."

Hahn glanced out over the front of the saddle, following Zuko's dragon hawk with keen eyes. The bird would need to rest soon, as would Appa. The sky bison wasn't as young as he used to be, and they had been travelling near non-stop all night.

"We're heading towards the old Western realm," Hahn noted, and Aang turned around to face the warrior.

"Have you been out here before?"

"No, but I've heard tales. Many believe that if you go far enough west, you'll drop off the face of the earth." A conspiratorial smirk curved on the handsome man's lips. "Of course spinning such a yarn is a good way to keep people out. Look at the Vāyus."

Aang slowly nodded in agreement. The Vāyus and even the Eastern Sun Warriors were able to hide their civilisations so well thanks to superstitions and legends—legends and myths created by the old civilisations themselves in order to keep dangers out. So who knew what they would find in this western realm, aside from Zuko and Katara.

"Aang." Hahn let loose a long-suffering sigh, as though he had been dreading this talk but deemed it necessary. "Have you considered the possibilities when we find Katara?"

The airbender glanced away. "You mean have I considered the possibility that she might be dead?"

"There's that—" Hahn inclined his head "—but I don't really think the Fifth Column would have kidnapped her just to kill her. Besides, I believe in your heart of hearts you'd know if something like that had happened to her." Aang silently nodded in agreement. "But I wonder if you've entertained the possibility of her not being the same as you left her."

"What do you mean?"

Hahn leaned back into the saddle before shifting uncomfortably. "Prison, isolation—it all has a way of changing a person, and not necessarily for the better."

"Were you—?"

"Not long after I left Juro's village I had travelled south-west near the capital during the war. I was captured by Fire Nation soldiers who threw me into prison. No questions asked. I met some rather interesting people there and, well . . ." He rolled his shoulders and that torturous distant look that had surfaced for a second cleared from his eyes. "You just need to prepare yourself—for any scenario."

"I am—I will." Aang nodded, as though trying to shake off Hahn's hard, soul-searching gaze. "It's just . . ." he trailed off, before taking in a deep breath. "I know you might not believe me, but I have faith that everything happens for a reason, for good or for ill. And I think—no, I _know_ Katara's okay. She has to be."

Hahn nodded once, not saying a word, and exhaled slowing through his nose. He turned back around and peered out over the saddle at the shimmering waters below. Aang, in turn, let go of the reins for a moment and rubbed his arms somewhat irritably. For all his posturing, he truly had no answers—only faith and hope.

* * *

**Author's notes: **So, I had originally intended this story to be only eighteen chapters long, but I felt this exposition chapter was necessary to not only remind the reader about Aang's gang and Mai's posse but to give a little teaser for what to expect in the sequel. Yes, there will be civil war and, yes, Zhao and Azula will feature greatly in it. Hey, if I let Hahn live, I might as well let Zhao survive too, right? ;)

PS. You won't find out the sex of Suki's baby until chapter 20. Also, I did some minor editing (you'll notice the format is slightly different) and the ending scene in chapter 17 (healing scene) has been relocated to chapter 19. :D


	19. Fallen

OUJI GROPPED HIS way in the dark for a few minutes until he heard the unmistakeable sounds of grinding stone and uprooting earth.

"Chen!"

He found a narrow set of stairs that led downwards in the direction of the noise and made fast and careful work to reach the bottom. He headed down a hallway of sorts with a high, arched ceiling and heard the grunt of one of the earthbender's cutting a path. It sounded as if they were just about to round the corner dead ahead when he called out again.

"Chen! Po!"

At first there was no response, just the grinding of stone, and then it stopped and the familiar voice of Chen bellowed, "What?" followed by, "Ouji, is that you?"

"Hey!" The young warrior trotted forward, rounding on the earthbenders who had just finished clearing a path. "Where is everyone?"

"Most of us are here." Chen gestured to Po and Bo. Nutak stood overhead holding a torch while the others were huddled not some twenty yards away, clear of the debris. "Katara and Zuko should be at the pool room by now." Chen glanced down at Ouji's empty hand and frowned. "Where's you're torch?"

"Lost it down a crevice on the way here."

The old earthbender grunted and motioned for Nutak to light another torch. The waterbender did so and handed one to the grateful young warrior.

"Thanks."

"Now what?"

Ouji temporarily handed the torch back to Nutak and took out a map, flattening on the ground while the others gathered around.

"You guys will take this path, here, for three and a half kilometres." He pointed ahead to a faint path clogged with stone and debris. "Bring the waterbenders along with you. Nutak?"

"Yeah?"

Ouji held up two fingers. "There are two ships at port and at least a twenty-man crew for both."

"I'll be ready."

"Good." Ouji rolled up the map and stuffed it back inside his tunic. The benders didn't need it since the earthbenders would be able to naturally locate fissures and crevices while the waterbenders would be able to accurately steer them towards the sea.

"Where are you going?" Nutak handed Ouji his torch and the young man thanked him.

"I'm going back to get Katara and Zuko. You guys be careful."

"You too, kid."

Chen and the other benders went back to work on clearing a path. Ouji trotted over to the other prisoners and knelt down, holding a torch over the unconscious twins. A part of him shuddered at the sight, but another, much larger part of him, smiled proudly at what they had accomplished. Still, there was much to do.

"Glad to see you're well," said Kala, looking rather worn out but content.

"And you, Kala." Ouji smiled and squeezed the old woman on the shoulder. "I need the waterbenders to go with Chen and the others. They'll need your help at the beach."

Kala nodded and Pinga and Pana helped the old woman to her feet. As they made their way over, Ken turned to Ouji and motioned for him to come closer.

"What about us?"

"You guys wait here and guard the prisoners while I go get Katara and Zuko." Ouji sprang to his feet. "We'll meet you back here in a few minutes."

"Right."

"Good luck, Ouji."

He nodded. "I'll be back soon."

Ouji then took off, carefully making his way through the labyrinth towards the pool room. After a few minutes he came upon a shadowy figure standing less than twenty yards away and he paused mid-step. It was only one man, but he couldn't entirely be certain.

Was it Zuko? If so, where was Katara? And why hadn't he said anything?

Instead of calling out, Ouji strode purposefully but carefully towards the mysterious figure. If it wasn't Zuko and instead a Fifth Columnist, he had to be unhurried for more could be nearby. Luckily Ouji was a young man with good reflexes, and as soon as he spotted the figure he had reached for the wall and snuffed out his torch, concealing himself in a curtain of darkness. The stranger hadn't yet spotted him, or so he assumed, but still it was best to play it safe.

The shadowy figure skulked along the walls and then stopped short to crouch low, a flame lit in his palm. His eyes narrowed on Ouji and the young man grimaced in recognition. No, it certainly wasn't Zuko crouching low in front of him; it was Taizo. Most people wouldn't have noticed Ouji hidden in the shadows, but Taizo knew him well. He had personally captured Ouji on several occasions and was able to catch the subtle indications in the way the young man moved. But the same could be said for Ouji's knowledge of Taizo.

Ouji exhaled slowly and lifted his arms, shifting himself into a fighting position. He shrugged. At least he wouldn't be bored down here.

Taizo scowled at first and then his crooked mouth widened in a grin. "Well, if it isn't the Blue Spirit all by his lonesome."

Without waiting for a response, Taizo attacked first with white-hot fire. Ouji immediately threw himself flat on the ground as a jet of flame whizzed over his head. There was nowhere to jump and no place to take shelter. He was out in the open, vulnerable.

Ouji was a natural in-fighter, but with Taizo's long range getting close in such cramped quarters was almost impossible without getting burnt. Ouji would have to switch up his tactics and attempt to out-fight a firebender until he could find his opening. So he leapt back up and lifted his hands as darts flew effortlessly from his fingers. But Taizo was quick, able to dodge the projectiles and return a volley of fire Ouji was only able to narrowly avoid.

The fire screamed past his left ear and then down the shaft as orange and blue sparks showered from the walls and ceiling. The hot, raw stink of burnt flesh fouled the air and then another burst of fire shot past his right ear this time and sent him reeling backwards. Wounded but still very much alive, Ouji gave his head a shake. His right ear was already starting to blister.

Yanking a dagger from his belt, Ouji threw it while launching himself to the ground. The quick succession of movements distracted Taizo, allowing Ouji to manoeuvre more freely. As Taizo fended off the dagger, he glanced about for Ouji, but the young man was already speeding low along the ground towards the firebender.

Ouji bellowed a war cry and sprang forward, throwing Taizo off-guard and causing him to stumble backwards. Ouji's arms were a whirl of speed, flashing and thrusting like a sword, parrying Taizo's fire attacks with small, precise movements. Taizo's hand was able to strike out and make contact, searing Ouji's neck with fire. The young man gritted his teeth and ignored the pain, drawing another dagger from his belt and ramming the point into Taizo's thigh.

Before Taizo could retaliate, Ouji used the momentum of his body to tackle the guard to the ground. Both hit the floor hard, but not before Ouji took another blast of fire to the face. Blinded, Ouji was unable to react accurately, leaving Taizo the opportunity to recover his wits and deliver a blow to the young warrior's jaw.

Ouji grunted and fell back while Taizo used the weight of his body to throw the young man off him. Able to recover, the guard staggered to his feet and pulled the dagger out; blood squirted from his thigh like a fountain. Bellowing, he struck out with his good foot and caught Ouji in the jaw again, disorienting him.

Ouji's eyes threatened to roll into the back of his head and blood seeped from his wounds. He was swiftly losing consciousness and the smell of his own burnt flesh made him nauseated. Taizo was suddenly looming over his immobile body, panting with a bloodied hand wreathed in flames and directed at Ouji's face.

"No one's here to save you now, Blue Spirit."

Taizo grinned and raised his fist high only for his eyes to widen in shock before he lurched forward. The surprising sound of bones splintering filled Ouji's ears, as did Taizo's pathetic cry. The same hand he was about to drive into Ouji's face was broken. Another crack, this time to the head, and the guard fell forward on top of Ouji in a crumbled heap.

Less than a second later a hooded stranger came into view and rolled Taizo's unconscious body off Ouji with a grunt. Ouji wasn't sure whether to be relieved, grateful or afraid. He was feeling all three right now. As his vision slowly began to return, he watched as the stranger crouched beside Taizo and checked for a pulse. Satisfied, he drew back his hood, revealing salt and pepper hair, with more salt than pepper, and a matching beard.

"He'll only be out for a few minutes, but at least he'll be disabled with the broken wrist."

"Atsuo?" Ouji blinked rapidly, his vision fully returning, though his eyes burned with smoke and tears.

"We can tie him up and gag him, leave him here." Atsuo drew a rope from his cloak and immediately began tying up his fellow guard. "It oughta slow him down for a bit—at least keep him off your trail for a while."

Ouji sat up and winced at the pain on his neck and face. "You saved me. Why?"

Atsuo had always been fair to him and the other prisoners, but it made no sense for a Fifth Columnist to turn on one of his own. No sense at all.

"It's a long story, but suffice to say I'm not the man you think I am." He finished tying up the unconscious Taizo and then helped Ouji onto his feet. "Let's just say the Fire Lord Zuko wasn't the first man to infiltrate the ranks of the Fifth Column."

Ouji teetered on his feet for a moment before catching his bearings. He stared levelly at the older guard and blinked.

Atsuo was a spy?

**.**

**.**

**.**

ROUNDING THE CORNER, Zuko stopped and let go of Katara's hand, bracing his shoulder against the wall. The last ten minutes rushed back to him all at once—the bloody battle with his mirrored images, his stand-off with Katara, his idiotic death wish . . .

It was a foolish thing not wanting to take her hand, but there it was. He would have died if it hadn't been for her and Chen. He was ready to die, too. But Katara wasn't ready for that, and he had placed himself between a rock and a hard place: to have her possibly die with him or to have her live with his death.

"Zuko, are you—?"

She started to go to him but he shook her off.

"I'm fine."

As if to prove his point he pushed himself off the wall and tried to walk forward, but his legs had become rubber. He fell forward in pain, bracing his hand against the wall to keep himself from falling flat on his face. Ironically, he had become a core of fear and control, clipped small and tight into a body he had, perforce, ill-treated and disregarded—all for her. And now he could feel the heat from his bruised and bloodied body flare and diminish until his nerves were rubbed raw. The adrenaline was wearing off and battle fatigue had finally set in.

"No, you're not." Katara clucked her tongue in disapproval before saddling up beside him. Her hands tentatively grasped his hips to steady him. He was trembling all over and looked ready to collapse at any moment. "I—you need to let me help you, Zuko."

He turned so that his back was resting against the wall and her palms smoothed up his hips and across the hard planes of his stomach and chest until they were cupping his jaw. Morning-blue eyes were a deep azure in the torch-light.

After a moment Zuko nodded his consent and lowered his head, allowing Katara to hold it heavy in her hands. Her fingers speared through the baby fine hairs at his temples, careless of the blood that trickled over her fingers. Without warning he was lurching forward with a roaring gasp, as if all the air was being squeezed from his lungs; back arching so forcefully his head nearly tore from her grasp.

One arm flung wide and he stood on the balls of his feet with his fingers spread wide as Katara continued to hold on. His entire body convulsed, bathed in a soft blue-white glow as he shook like a leaf caught in the breeze. Dried flakes of blood fell from his face, arms, chest and hands, and his cuts began to close shut, knitting themselves together with invisible threads.

How was she healing him like this?

Almost as soon as it began it was over. Panting, Katara took her hands away; her entire body was vibrating with power. Zuko slumped forward and she barely caught him around the waist. He rested his heavy head on her thin shoulder and shuddered, feeling her power flow through him and merge with his own.

When he finally lifted himself back up and settled onto his feet, he glanced down at his body. His fingernails had regrown and his injuries were simply gone, as if he had never been hurt in the first place. But what was more than that was the pain in his head—Yin and Yang's ruthless invasion—was gone.

"How did you—?"

"Katara! Zuko!"

Both Zuko and Katara spun around. A red-faced Ouji was running towards them with a cloaked person trailing behind.

"Ouji?"

"Tui and La!" Katara gasped and let go of Zuko, wobbling towards Ouji. "What happened to your face?"

Ouji caught the waterbender and held her hands as she tried to touch the numerous blister marks on his neck and face. "No time to explain. We should go now."

Zuko agreed. Katara was still worn out from healing him to start on Ouji. If they gave her a few more minutes, she could recover her strength and heal Ouji in the pool room. Although Zuko had to admit he was curious how and why the boy had been burnt in the first place.

Was he attacked by guards? Were the others caught?

As curious as he was, Zuko was far more suspicious of the cloaked stranger standing just far enough out of the light to be properly seen.

"Who's this?"

Ouji followed Zuko's thumb and turned. "Oh, that's Atsuo."

"One of the guards?"

"He's on our side, trust me."

Zuko's eyes narrowed on Atsuo and his fingers instinctively sought the blades hidden under his sleeves. "I do trust you, Ouji, but not a Fifth Columnist."

Atsuo lowered his hood and took a careful step forward. Though he had a genial look to him, there was a stern sort of wisdom hidden behind those soft brown eyes of his. It was the sort of face that reminded Zuko of his uncle, but that in itself was deceptive.

"You have no right to trust or believe me, Fire Lord, but I _am_ your ally." Zuko arched his good eyebrow in suspicion and the guard produced a familiar-looking Pai Sho tile. "We don't have time to discuss this here right now, so I will simply say this: 'Just as the white lotus comes to full growth in the water so too does the Avatar come to full growth in the world, passing beyond the world and abiding unspotted by the world'."

Zuko's mouth fell open and his fingers fell away from the hidden blades. "You—y-you're a member of the Order?"

"What I'm a part of pre-dates the White Lotus." Atsuo slipped the tile back up his sleeve and drew up his cowl, his brown eyes dilating black. "And our sole mission is to bring down the Fifth Column."

Zuko took in a deep breath and slowly nodded while Katara, who had recovered, took a step closer towards Atsuo in open curiosity. Zuko made it a point to position himself between the two so she couldn't get too close. Though this man obviously knew of the Order of the White Lotus and was aware of its secret codes, the Fire Lord couldn't allow himself to trust him completely for Katara's sake, and everyone else's.

"C'mon," Ouji interjected, trying to defuse the tension as he grabbed Katara's arm. "Let's get Katara some more water. We have a long journey ahead and the benders are already making their way to the beach as we speak. The rest are waiting for us beyond the pool room."

Zuko and Atsuo continued to stare at each other for another moment but curtly nodded their agreement. Katara, though, was touching Ouji's face with one hand while uncorking her waterskin.

"Let me heal your face first."

"You can do that at the pool room. There's more light there."

Katara reluctantly conceded to Ouji's proposal and corked the waterskin. From that point on Ouji led them towards the pool room, jumping from one path up onto the next, with Zuko helping Katara.

They followed the sound of rushing water until they came upon a winding pathway that led into an entirely different cavern. The temperature was decidedly cooler here, and as they walked towards the source of the sound, the cave opened up to reveal a deep pool with a series of fresh water springs spilling into it.

"I've never used volcanic water to heal before," Katara said, bending the cool water into her hands and applying it to Ouji's wounds. "But it's rich in minerals and sulphur, so you shouldn't have a scar."

Zuko touched his left cheek and frowned. He remembered a time when Katara had offered to use the Spirit Oasis water on his scar. She had even offered to heal him again with the spirit water after the war, his chest too, but he had declined. His scars were a part of him. They were his badges of honour.

As Katara weaved her healing balm over Ouji's burns, Zuko lit a flame in his palm and held it aloft, spotting the set of ascending stairs. He was almost tempted to take the exit just to scout for the guards, but he didn't need them finding another easily accessible route to the underground city, lest they were nearby to spot him.

Gathering what water they could, and with Ouji producing two more waterskins for Katara to use, they made their way out of the pool room to the rendezvous where the others waited.

"Wait!" Zuko suddenly stopped and held out a hand, causing the others to halt behind him. His ears prickled at a faint sound coming from the direction of the bridge.

"What is it?" Katara whispered. "Is it the others?"

Zuko turned to look at Ouji, who shook his head. "Seems like Kenzo and the guards have finally woken up."

"And it sounds as if they're _all_ coming for us."

"They must have heard the fight from earlier," said Atsuo, drawing back his hood. "They have some idea of where we are now."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Ouji said, turning towards the old guard. "Perhaps you would have preferred me to let Taizo kick my ass in silence?"

"Just move."

Zuko ignored the younger man and pushed him forward. They made their way down the maze of passageways before coming to a dead end. They turned to Ouji for an answer, but it was Atsuo who spoke first.

"Thanks to the earthbenders this passage has become a bit of a cul-de-sac. We should lead them away from the others and then double-back."

Zuko nodded. "Agreed, but we have to move—_now_."

And that they did. But instead of leading away they ended up locating the other prisoners, who were huddled in the corner, keeping wary guard over their own prisoners, the twins. At the sight of the moving shadows, the prisoners tensed and drew themselves up to fight, but once they saw Ouji their shoulders relaxed.

"You're safe."

Ouji grinned. "You can't get rid of me that easily."

"Too bad."

"Hey!"

"So where to now?" Ken was addressing Zuko, who was lighting torches, and he paused to point ahead.

"We make our way to the harbour."

They took off down the tunnel, each prisoner taking turns carrying the twins. The earthbenders had made a path for them and the waterbenders were going to help secure their ship they were going to take to get off this damn island. All they needed to do now was make it out of this underground city alive.

Zuko and Ouji led the way with the others closely following. They moved stealthily and therefore slowly, sneaking along quietly as a unit; backtracking and detouring whenever they sensed the guards near. However, that only made it easier for them to get lost.

This place was like a maze; a labyrinth of rock and debris, yet at the same time it all seemed so natural, like the city was always underground. If Zuko had lived here, navigating its passageways wouldn't have posed a problem. He would have known every turn, every dead end, but he didn't. He had to rely on instinct, and Ouji. Fortunately the guards didn't know this place, either. They were all outsiders here. But it was only a matter of time before the hunters found their prey, and Zuko had been right.

He and the others were traversing a gallery hung with musty sort of phosphorescent tapestries when something rustled behind them. Silent in their boots, more than a half-dozen Fifth Columnists appeared behind them, pouring into the small space with Kenzo in front.

"They're here!"

"Take the Fire Lord alive!" Kenzo bellowed. "We have to retrieve Yin and Yang-sama."

Zuko and the others pivoted, Katara ready with her water. As the guards charged forward, Zuko brandished his daggers and let loose a volley of sharpened steel. More sprang from his fingertips before the Columnists could properly recover, and Zuko used this to his advantage to help the others escape to safety. Small quarters as these were no place for non-benders in a fire-fight.

"Ouji, get everyone out of here!"

Before the young man could answer, the first volley of fire was launched, and Zuko quickly brought up a wall of fire to protect the retreating prisoners. The fiery missiles struck but did not penetrate. But the fire wall couldn't hold forever and after time it would only aggravate Katara.

He shared a look with waterbender, who had her waterskins uncorked, and then he dropped the wall. The contingent of firebenders moved in closer, brandishing their fire, and though Zuko was able to duck the first attack cleanly, the next one caught him flush across the arm. His skin bubbled and boiled and he gritted his teeth in pain but made no sound. A heartbeat later and the Fifth Columnists were engulfed in a torrent of water. All but three in the front, including Kenzo, fell. Either they'd been nimble enough to dodge the water or they had used their fire to evaporate it to steam.

Undeterred by the momentary loss of their comrades, the guards drove onwards into mêlée range. Kenzo went for Zuko first and shafts fell from Fire Lord's fingertips, one hitting Kenzo directly in his chest. But the hard leather of his vest absorbed most of the impact, rendering the attack moot.

Ouji and the others were thankfully gone, retreated back to a safe distance. Zuko was already beginning to run out of shurikens and was still exhausted from his previous firebending exertion on the bridge. Plus, he had to be careful with bending; there was always a chance he could inadvertently hit Katara with his fire.

Knowing it would be useless for him to firebend so freely in such tight quarters, Zuko had already drawn his dao swords. He slid the blades easily from their sheaths in one smooth motion, relishing the feel of the steel in his hands, the weight and balance of the swords. He began to cut through the fire effortlessly, driving Kenzo back.

While Zuko parried fire with steel, Katara fought with water and ice. A hissing sound accompanied a dozen long razor sharp ice daggers that shot from her fingertips and streaked straight at the firebenders. An icy dagger embedded itself in one of the guard's shoulders and he cried out in pain before stumbling and falling onto his back.

The rest of the guards melted the icy projectiles and advanced on Katara while Zuko fought Kenzo head on. The warden was no amateur bender; he used fire expertly, even better than Zhao and almost as well as his uncle. But then Zuko could hold his own and fire was what he expected Kenzo to fight with, not steel.

In a blinding motion, Kenzo cut towards Zuko in a low, sweeping manner, evading the Fire Lord's blades while distracting him with fire. Zuko dodged and stiffened in confusion at first and then pain as a searing sensation assaulted his leg and back. Kenzo had attacked him with his own shuriken, slicing him across the back of his leg, half upending him, and across the back, driving Zuko down onto his knees. One of the dao swords fell from his hands and Kenzo immediately kicked it away.

Grinning triumphantly, the warden brandished his fire and was ready to strike when a whip of water slashed across his face, sending him reeling. Using Katara's save to his advantage, Zuko immediately rolled away and pushed himself up onto his feet while Kenzo brought a hand to his bloodied eye.

Zuko stumbled backwards and eventually regained his footing, raising his sword at Kenzo in challenge. Sweat slicked his hair to his skull and rolled down his chest and back inside his tunic. Blood gushed from his numerous wounds; the cuts on his leg and back ached fiercely but he refused to acknowledge them. Instead he swallowed the pain and steadied his hands. He was immobile. He was a monolith.

Kenzo smirked at Zuko's exhaustion and the fire in his palms roared. A sword meant very little against fire unless one knew how to use it, and Zuko was one with the sword; flowing from stance to stance without thought, boots scrapping along the stone floor. Kenzo, in turn, circled him, sidestepping warily from foot to foot to avoid the dao blade.

The two carried on in this fashion, waiting to see who would strike first, when Kenzo lunged forward and slashed low, slicing into Zuko's hamstring. The Fire Lord grunted in surprise and then pain; the warden had struck him in the same spot as earlier, but even deeper this time. Momentarily off-guard, Zuko was barely able to fend off the next attack before shuffling just out of reach.

Trying to bide himself some time, Zuko faked a sidestep to the left and dodged right. His wounded leg throbbed and the pain slowed him just enough to render the deception ineffective. Kenzo merely grinned at the ineffectual feint and met Zuko with a fiery blow to his solar plexus, sending the younger man backwards.

He regained his balance and spat out a phlegmy wad of blood before levelling his sword on the warden once more. Every warrior knew you couldn't retreat in the same instant you were advancing, so Zuko had no choice but to stand and defend himself.

He awkwardly darted in and swept a dao blade across Kenzo's body in a lateral parry. The warden tried to dip his fire dagger beneath to block the metal but moved just a hair too slowly. Zuko's blade ripped through the muscle walls of his abdomen like a chilled knife cutting through butter.

Kenzo roared in pain but riposted with a smoking blow to Zuko's chest. His hand immediately went to his belly to staunch the flow of blood and crudely seal the wound with fire, but Zuko had recovered with incredible alacrity and was already whirling a jet of fire with the intent to flay.

Manoeuvring his body, Kenzo managed to avoid taking the full brunt of the attack but the left side of his body was not spared the charring heat. A gurgled scream bubbled from his lips and he stumbled back in retreat, his legs wobbling like rubber. That's when he sensed movement on his flank; Katara.

The waterbender was already hard at work, surrounded by no less than six opponents. Her chest was heaving and her face was covered with sweat and soot. With so many foes surrounding her she wasn't capable of going on the offensive. She was vulnerable to a surprise attack, and Kenzo knew this.

Seeing his chance to strike, Kenzo pivoted to face the waterbender; hoping to take her unaware as she fought the other firebenders. But Zuko wasn't having any of that. He leapt over the attack, and when he landed his leg screamed with pain and threatened to buckle beneath him. Shouting, he managed his leg to hold and launched an immediate fire and sword assault on the warden.

Kenzo was forced back as Zuko was relentless, fighting through the pain and using it as fuel. The pace became even faster and more brutal and Kenzo began to flounder as Zuko's fire flashed. In his attempt to dodge the attack, Kenzo fell down and knocked his head against the stone, rendering his body temporarily immobile.

Zuko seized the opportunity and lunged forward, grabbing Kenzo by the collar and yanking him up to his knees. He was about to shove his blade down the warden's throat when a gloved hand caught him by the elbow and pulled back.

"Wait!"

Ouji's grip tightened on Zuko's arm, but he couldn't pull the firebender back. Zuko's focus was on Kenzo alone. The warden was panting as blood spilled from his wounds; his uniform seemed to have melted off the left side of his body, leaving the familiar scent of charred flesh to foul the air.

Ouji's dark blue eyes sought Zuko's. "I know he deserves to die, but he's the only family I have left."

Zuko, still filled with bloodlust, refused to let go. And then another voice cut through the tension: Atsuo's.

"He is useful to your cause, Fire Lord. He has information."

Zuko growled lowly in his throat and his grip on the warden tightened before he swiftly let go, but not before delivering a blow to Kenzo's head with the hilt of his sword, knocking him unconscious. With his final adversary defeated, Zuko sank down on his good knee and tried to catch his breath.

A few seconds later he glanced up to see that there were still four firebenders circling Katara; the other two she had already dispatched. Zuko was about to stand up assist her when he heard the thump of the four guards slamming face-first into an ice wall and then falling to the ground unconscious. He couldn't help but smile. She certainly didn't need his help.

As Katara went about binding the firebenders with ice, Zuko stood up and surveyed the aftermath of the battle. He toed an unconscious guard with a frown and watched as the body went slack. All of the Fifth Columnists appeared to be unconscious, though some were possibly dead. He wasn't about to check.

"What do we do with the others?"

"Leave 'em." He had no interest in taking any more prisoners. The warden and the twins were more than enough.

Zuko turned in a slow circle as he searched for a sign if any of the other guards were still on their trail. Katara held still and listened with him, but the passageways were silent and empty. Neither could detect anything that signalled danger. Satisfied, Zuko began to limp his way towards the other prisoners who were carrying an unconscious Kenzo along with the twins, when Katara reached out and grabbed him by the arm.

"Hey, let's get this healed first."

She pointed to his leg and Zuko nodded in assent. He was bloody and exhausted. It seemed quite ridiculous when one really thought about it; the heroes in stories never got hurt so badly that they could barely stand. But this wasn't some story; this was life.

The others gathered round as Katara began to heal his wounds as well as a few of her own. Zuko had no idea how long they'd been fighting, but was too long. They needed rest and water if they wanted the strength they needed to get out of here and continue their fight at the harbour. Things would only get worse before they got better, and he really hoped that he was wrong.

**.**

**.**

**.**

NOTHING MORE TROUBLED them for the rest of their shadowed walk, even when Kenzo awoke and was gagged, forced to walk on his own while the twins were carried.

After a few minutes the subterranean gorge suddenly dropped low, exposing the ancient buried city of Ka'shi. They were only standing in the nook, a mere opening partway up the cavern wall, but after a few feet the passageway opened up into a wide high-walled bridge, overlooking the outline of an extraordinary citadel. But as magnificent as the citadel was, it only a detail in a scene of far greater splendour.

"Whoa!"

"_This_ is the ancient city of Ka'shi?"

"Wow."

"You can say that again."

The city, though half-buried and littered with debris, was breathtaking to behold, even from a distance. Everything should have been dark; however, the phosphorescence from the walls made the entire city glow with a dim light. Tall temple towers and palace roofs marched along the great outer wall of dark grey stone streaked with silver, and within rose even taller towers and domes, some covered in what looked to be burnished gold.

Yet this was only the shell of the fallen city—a city once made of silver spires and golden domes and stonework as intricate as lace. It had once been the heart of the desert beating in the shadow of the sun and now it would never see the sun again.

The city itself appeared to have become one with the underground cave, forming a new sort of entity. On the cavern floor were castles hewn from natural protrusions of calcite, which shone blue, green, and violet amid the darkness. These phosphorescent palaces served to delineate the plateau of the ancient Western Sun Warriors, but amidst the ancient beauty was the cold reality that this was nothing more than ruins of a noble civilisation. With its empty streets and powdered bones, everything and _everyone_ else had turned to dust long ago.

The prisoners stepped out onto the bridge the earthbenders had created for them. The stone wall work opened up over the citadel and arched over a small section of the city. The bridge itself was at least three kilometres in length and less than a hundred metres off the ground. The company had traversed only a few metres when the ground shook beneath their feet.

The tremors were low but persistent, shifting chunks of wall loose from the bridge and exposing a larger view to the city below. Everyone halted and began to murmur, exchanging worried glances, but Zuko confidently continued across the bridge and spurred the others into action.

"We have to keep moving," he ordered, glancing down at the deserted city below. "There's no telling when the volcano will erupt or if an earthquake will flatten the city and collapse the tunnels."

They hurried on through the soft-glowing city where the air had become preternaturally still and silent, but at least the stench of the sulphur had faded. Whenever their whispered conversation died away for a moment, the quiet place seemed to rush in upon them, pressuring them close with a strangely hostile quality—as if the very stone and city itself resented their presence.

After a march of two kilometres, Zuko called for a brief halt and knelt down to unfold the map on the dusty passage floor. Katara brought the torch over to give him more light and ended up shedding some on a section of the bridge that hadn't yet noticed.

"Tui and La!" she gasped. "The bridge is missing!"

Several yards ahead of them the bridge appeared to have just broken off. The party carefully made their way to the edge of the stone mass to see that a great chunk of it had indeed broken off and collapsed onto the city below. The city itself looked as though it had suffered a huge gaping wound, where even the walls of the citadel and the remaining edges of the bridge were charcoaled black and warm to the touch, as though a fire had recently spread through like a powerful updraft.

"What happened here?"

"Did Chen and the others do this?"

Zuko put his hand against the warm sooty rock and pulled back with a frown. "Whatever did this not only managed to tear up the ground but burn the very stone. No earthbender can do that."

"Was it the volcano?"

"An earthquake?"

Atsuo lit a flame in his palm and extended it over the gap in the bridge, peering into the chasm below. "An earthquake didn't cause this."

"How can you be sure?"

"Earthquakes don't burn stone."

The prisoners exchanged more worried glances before peering over the edge once more. The gorge below was somewhat similar to the one they had crossed before they reached the pool room, though nowhere as deep. Plus, there were no noxious fumes here and no subterranean furnace burning brightly below. This was something entirely different and somehow far more unsettling.

"What did we awaken down here?"

Everyone turned to look a Ken, who had so freely voiced what everyone was thinking. Zuko didn't know who or what caused this, but he didn't need his company falling apart when they were so close to freedom.

"Regardless of who or what did this, we now know our situation is grave-_er_," said Atsuo, extinguishing the fire in his palm. "We need to get off this bridge and out of this city as quickly as possible."

Zuko nodded. "Agreed."

"Well, we can't go this way." Ouji pointed to the broken bridge. The gap had to be at least twenty feet long or more; even Zuko would have a difficult time jumping that. "We need to find another way out."

"But this is the quickest route to the harbour."

"And arguably the safest," added Katara. "It isn't exactly safe crossing the desert on foot at night."

"I'd rather battle the wind and sand than have the city crush me from above," said Daichi, and Ken nodded.

"Or something evil take us from below."

"What about the other guards?"

"What about the element of surprise?" Ouji retorted. "We'd be outnumbered and easily caught on the surface. And, besides, how do you propose we get there from here, turn back?"

"Look—" Zuko raised a hand and immediately quelled their questioning "—you all may be feeling fine to take to the surface, but I can't take another stand-up fight right now." He gestured to his bloodied leg, though he knew he wasn't the only bender who was exhausted right now. "Or struggle against the wind and sand."

"Well, there's got to be another way out of here, another passage," Ouji said, taking the map from Zuko. "Let's find another route."

As Zuko and Ouji pored over the map, danger stirred in their very midst. Yin slowly blinked blind eyes open. She tried to move but her body was still tightly bound by the metal. No one had noticed her waking; they were all too focussed on their escape and the distant rumbling of something ancient and far deadlier than herself.

"The fools don't even know how to fly." Everyone, including Kenzo, turned to gaze upon the mindbender in horror as the woman began to laugh. "You're lost and you're all going to _die_ down here!"

Her high-pitched laughter churned their stomachs and stirred fear in their heart. Zuko turned to face Yin, ready to put his aunt out of _his_ misery, when another rumbling sound echoed throughout the city, shaking pebbles loose from the bridge.

Yin began to cackle even louder. "You'll never make it out of here alive!"

Suddenly there was the sound of grinding stone on the other side of the bridge. They all turned, anticipating the worst, when the bald-headed, grey-bearded Chen came into view.

"What's taking you guys so long?"

Zuko's instantly shoulders relaxed and he let out a breath he hadn't even known he'd been holding. Katara and Ouji rushed forward.

"Chen!" Katara clasped her hands together in relief and sighed. "You came back for us!"

"Of course." Chen shook of his head and immediately went to work building the bridge across the gap and walked across it towards them. "What happened here?"

"We don't know." Zuko motioned behind Chen to the other side of the bridge. "Where are the others?"

"We're here!" Po announced, as he and Bo seemed to materialise from the shadows. They were walking along the walls of the bridge, checking out the damage from earlier—damage they knew they hadn't caused. "The waterbenders are at the beach ready to take control of the ships on your order."

"They plan on attacking alone?" Atsuo faced Zuko with open incredulity while Chen took a step forward.

"Atsuo? What's he doing here? Did you guys take him as prisoner?"

"Not exactly."

Chen's brow creased into a deep V and he was about to open his mouth to ask another question, one pertaining to a gagged Kenzo, when Yin interrupted with a derisive snort.

"Do you honestly think our men weren't prepared for this?"

No one answered and, after a moment's pause, Chen strolled over and sad down on his haunches in front of the mindbender. "I think your men have very little chance against Nutak and Kala." He grinned. "Nutak's been itching for a good fight for decades."

"You're all fools," Yin hissed, gesturing limply to her metal bindings. "You think you can hold us? You think you can defeat us?" Her blind eyes met Chen's and she grinned, revealing a row of perfectly even teeth. "You might win the battle, prisoner, but not the war. You can't hope that any of you will survive outside these prison walls."

When she finished speaking there was a pregnant pause and the air thickened with silence. The prisoners glanced furtively at one another, never landing their gaze on anyone in particular. Had they all become institutionalised? Most of them had spent their entire lives in prison. How would they fare on the outside?

Chen simply sucked on his teeth and nodded slowly. "Is that so, Truth-Seer?"

"You know the truths I speak." Her grin widened unnaturally. "But none of that really matters since you aren't going to leave here alive."

Chen stared at the woman a good long moment before standing to his feet. "You know what I think? I think you're just upset because you're no longer at the top of the food chain, darling." Before Yin could reply, Chen tightened the bonds around her torso and effectively put her to sleep. "Welcome to the rest of the world."

As the mindbender went limp, Ouji snorted. "Well, that certainly shut her up."

Zuko cleared his throat and clapped Chen on the shoulder in thanks before motioning to Ken and Ryuu to pick up the twins while Ouji grabbed Kenzo by a bound arm. But before they could move along there was another rumbling in the distance; this time the tremors shook the bridge and disturbed the city below.

"What's that?"

There was another rumble and Zuko could hear what almost sounded like rain as a fine dust blew through the city and across the bridge. He gritted his teeth and braced himself as the greyish-black substance rolled over them like a blanket of snow. It was volcanic ash and very shortly it was going to be difficult to breathe.

"Yeah, this is much better than a sandstorm!" Ken shouted, and Zuko lifted his cowl with a grimace.

"Everyone put up your fukumens!"

Covering their mouths and eyes the best they could, they began their trek across the bridge, staying as close to the walls as possible. Zuko didn't relish the thought of being crushed at any moment by falling debris from above or falling to his death below. He had already fallen once and had been far too intimately involved with the earthquake than he cared to remember. He wanted to avoid a repeat incident, if he could.

With Chen leading the way and Zuko taking up point at the rear, navigation would be easier if they followed along the wall of the bridge rather than heading down and trying to work their way through the city itself. And while the ash had finally dissipated, an updraft of smoke had begun to thicken, causing more difficulties, including lack of sight.

Zuko was surprised how haze-choked the passageway had become. More than once he nearly careened off a trench wall into the city below. Nonetheless, he still considered the challenge of navigating through this to be safer than battling sandstorms he couldn't control and which would quickly bury them, or where capture from the firebenders at the harbour would be eminent, making this entire escape moot.

When they finally made it across the bridge without incident, Zuko lowered his cowl. They had entered another tunnel that eventually opened up into a large room free from ash and smoke. The cavern itself was immense and inside was another section of the city with roofs that rested upon dozens of towering pillars carved into the shapes of dragons; eyes glowing red with rubies in the torchlight.

It looked to be an old foundry, and Zuko couldn't help but be a little awe-struck. This great smelter had once been the heart of the sun city, although Zuko wondered why the Sun Warriors needed to cast iron and other metals in such a place. The way it was built and where it was located almost suggested that this was its original resting place and it had not been pulled down underground with the rest of the city.

The air here was completely still and motionless, though Zuko could discern a distant deep sighing of wind far off down the tunnels behind them. It was a low moaning sound that tickled on the edge of his awareness, growing louder and persistent. He turned towards the sound and a cold fear stirred in his heart before a blast of heat hit him directly in the face. The warm wind rushed down the tunnels, whistling and then howling as it gathered speed.

"Do you hear that?"

"Another earthquake?"

The ground beneath them shook and a roar erupted from the bowels of earth, followed by the sound of stone fracturing. Chen immediately got into a bowl-legged stance and began fortifying the foundations of the cavern to prevent it from caving in.

"The tunnels are collapsing!" he roared. "RUN!"

With any thought, everyone started fleeing towards what they hoped was the exit. The floor threatened to give way beneath their feet as chunks of mortar fell from the lofty ceiling and statues of dragons broke through the floor and fell onto the city below. Chen, however, kept his ground, building walls and solidifying the foundations. Ouji was about to turn around and join him when Zuko gripped him tightly by the forearm and pulled him with him.

"We've got to get the others out of here!"

The passage ahead was already starting to crumble but Po and Bo were clearing a path in front while Zuko and Katara roused the others into action. The floor quivered beneath their feet, making it hard to stand let alone run, as large chunks of stalactites continued to fall from the ceiling, barely missing them as they plunged through to the lower levels of the city.

The ground bellowed and groaned, a roiling cacophony that filled the passageway and sounded as if the earth was splitting itself apart, opening its giant maw to swallow them whole. The grumbling sounds only grew louder and steadier as rocks broke off and came stampeding towards them.

Zuko could feel the vibrations in the stone, feel the floor giving out beneath his weight. He almost wished he could turn around and witness the chaos rushing at them, but in a way he didn't. It was going to be a deathtrap for anyone still caught inside the cavern.

Then the snapping, splintering sound of the stone reached a crescendo and there was one final explosion; a tremor that shook the entire floor so strongly that Zuko had to brace himself against one of the walls. There was a jerk at first and then a pause, and suddenly if felt as if the entire cavern had shifted on its side and the floor dropped out from beneath him and he went tumbling into the void.

There was a horrendous crash and a brief sense of weightlessness before Zuko's ribs struck something solid, as did his head. A few heartbeats later his body finally hit the ground and he rolled until he ran into something solid again. The initial impact of the fall should have been devastating—in fact, it should have killed him—but something had cushioned his fall.

Zuko pushed himself upright onto his knees and hazard a glance upwards, gaping in amazement. He had fallen through the cavern floor and onto the roof of an old temple, which he had also managed to crash through, though it had broken most of his fall.

The building shook with another tremor and part of the wall collapsed, exposing the room to the rest of the city that was now covered in a thick film of ash, dust, and smoke. Climbing to his feet, Zuko made his way out of the hole and searched for the others. He could see nothing at first but he could hear noises from above: coughing and moaning.

Zuko located an incline, a small pile of rocks (what he assumed used to be part of the cavern floor) and began to climb them back up towards the others. He hissed as jagged rocks cut into his flesh, but he ignored the pain and his injuries and continued climbing until he reached the top through the now-gaping floor where he had originally fallen from.

When he crawled back inside, thick black smoke and volcanic ash had pooled into the cavern, choking his lungs and blinding him. It was hard to see more than a few feet in any direction, but for lack of sight he still had his hearing and everything had suddenly gone silent. There were no more explosions, no more tremors. Only the sound of the earth's bowels quietly rumbling in digestion and the awful hiss of heat.

Then there was another deafening crack and a giant chunk of the ceiling tore off and hurtled towards him. He managed to manoeuvre himself out of the way and flung up his arm to shield his face from the smaller falling debris. There was nothing but ash and dust in the air and he coughed loudly, closing his eyes shut. He groped along the wall, trying to listen for the sound of others, from Chen, but nothing came.

Suddenly from behind came a gasp and a series of hoarse coughs. He turned around, and when his vision cleared he saw Katara and the earthbenders looking as dazed as he felt. The others slowly came into focus thereafter; their legs splayed out as they tried to maintain their balance. Fortunately none of them had fallen through floor like himself.

"Was that a cave-in?"

"That wasn't caused by the volcano, was it?"

Zuko scrambled over and helped Katara to her feet. He wasn't sure what happened, exactly. The volcano was certainly active and there was ash in the air, but he couldn't sense an eruption. There was no lava and the noxious fumes were, thankfully, at a minimum, but the thick black smoke was not.

But if it wasn't the volcano or an earthquake that caused the cave-in, what did?

A glint of red caught his eye; the ruby eyes of a metal dragon, and Zuko blanched. The statue had broken apart, leaving only the head intact, and he began to wonder.

It couldn't have been a dragon, could it have?

"Chen! Where's Chen?"

Ouji's face was covered in soot; only the cobalt blue of his irises stood out in the glow of the cavern. Zuko chanced to light a flame in his palm and shone it around the remains of the room. The western half of the cavern, the one they had entered through and the spot where Chen had held his ground, had completely caved in.

"If we spread out, we can find him more quickly."

As if to punctuate the need for urgency, another rumbling vibration bounded through the caved-in passageway and Zuko thought he heard the fracturing of solid rock from above and below, followed by something loud and unmistakeable: a growl.

"We have to get out of here!"

"But Chen?"

Bo and Po worked hard at removing the rock only to be upset by another tremor as more of the ceiling fell down on them. There was no way they could get through the wall in time, not before the stone above them collapsed on their heads or the room was filled with sand.

The earthbenders hastily returned to the group, bloodied and panting. They were worn out, defeated, barely able to stand. They shook their heads in hopelessness and Ouji blinked back tears.

"No . . . NO!" He tried to run past them, but Po grabbed him by the waist. "Let go! We've gotta save Chen! CHEN! CHEN!"

"Ouji, there's nothing we can do." Po's voice broke like water on rocks. "We can't hold this place up much longer. We have to go."

"No! We can't leave without him." Ouji shook his head, tears tracking down his sooty cheeks. "Chen! CHEN!"

"Ouji."

Another tremor ripped through the cavern and Po grabbed Ouji by the arm this time, pulling him forward. Zuko took hold of Katara's hand and the company broke off in a sprint towards the exit, dragging the twins behind them as the ceiling completely collapsed and the rush of sand began to fill the shrinking space.

In seconds the entire area had caved in, blocking off all exits, and everyone found themselves outside, standing in a small gorge with the moon shining overhead. The wind howled and the sand stung their eyes, but they had made it out alive.

Katara began coughing and she reached for Zuko's hand. He gripped tightly and pulled her in close as they all stared unblinkingly at the tunnel blocked with stone and sand. They were alive, but not all of them had made it out. They had lost a comrade—a man who had risked all and saved their lives without a moment's hesitation.

Chen, one of the first prisoners of Ka'shi, had fallen.


End file.
